Post Euphoria: A Time to Grow
by chicmns
Summary: Alison Cameron and Eric Foreman: two very different people, who start to build a new relationship on the ashes of an old one, after a lifethreatening illness that threatens one of them causes both to really see each other for the first time.
1. Chapter 1

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow"**

a "House, M.D." story by **Chicmns**

Pairing: Cameron/Foreman

Rating: PG

**Author's note:** This is a story written on the basis of the season-ending "Euphoria" episodes of "House, M.D.", where as a result of a life-threatening illness, the relationship between Eric Foreman and Alison Cameron changes. I think that those two episodes were some of the best TV I've seen in years, and I was enthralled by what the two actors, Jennifer Morrison and Omar Epps, pulled off through their characters. They both tapped into heretofore unknown depths, and did it in tune with, and playing off of, each other. That show has some of the best acting (and actors) on TV right now, but those two reached new heights at the end of last season. And, if you're not a fan of Foreman/Cameron stories, well--too bad. No, seriously – I've read too much on the Web about how they could never realistically be together for this reason or that. Claptrap! If the writers can try to (in my opinion) jam a late-40-something misanthrope together with a naïve, sensitive woman in her thirties, then ANYTHING'S possible. At least, that's what I hope to show.

That's not the only reason why I'm writing these stories, though – those two episodes showed me the unique possibilities between these two characters, and I want to explore that. After all, isn't that what we all do every day with others?

This story will alternate perspectives between Cameron and Foreman, with Foreman going first. I thought it would be interesting to see the relationship develop from both sides at the same time, even though it makes it somewhat harder for me to write.

So, here goes …

**FOREMAN**

Eric could still see them, he imagined, even through his closed eyelids. The cracks on the wall facing him in his darkened hospital room at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital where he works and, recently, he'd become a patient himself. He'd tried to focus on those cracks as a way of testing his mind and memory, trying to explore and determine for himself—as any good diagnostician would—how much damage he'd suffered from the brain biopsy he'd been given in an attempt to save his life. The fact that he was the patient didn't (or shouldn't) make a bit of difference—something he'd learned from his "manipulative bastard" of a boss, Dr. Gregory House. And even though he'd known the risks involved in the procedure, he'd decided, not long after watching that poor cop die in front of him, that he'd undergo the biopsy when the time was right.

The only thing he couldn't quite decide at the time was which doctor he'd ask to perform it.

Throughout this whole ordeal, he had always been pretty sure it wouldn't be House – the man had a definite tendency to do things according to his own perceived schedule and needs, and not necessarily the patients'. Eric wanted it done right, and he wanted it done at the right time, by someone with the right reasons for doing it. And, as much as he liked and trusted Chase, Cuddy, and Wilson…that really only left one person.

The one whom he'd turned over his medical proxy to.

And also the one whom he'd screwed out of getting credit on an article they'd jointly worked on.

Alison Cameron.

Eric shook his head in wry amazement as much as he could manage, his head laying on one of the never-soft-enough hospital pillows in his room. He still couldn't quite take in everything that had happened to him over the past week – and Alison had been a big part of it all.

She'd saved his life after first turning him down when he'd asked her to forgive him for the article, telling him in no uncertain terms why she was doing it—because he thought that he was going to die, and she KNEW that he thought that.

And, for her, that wasn't a good enough reason to forgive him. Not, at least in her words, they "got him better", would she even consider it.

Her response, and the emotional power behind it, had shocked him to the core. He'd thought for SURE that she'd forgive him right then and there; but when she'd told him, "No," he just couldn't believe it.

Maybe she had learned too much from House.

Funny thing, though. The more he'd thought about it afterward, the more it made perfect sense from her point of view, and the more he was convinced it was pure Alison. She was a great doctor – and one of the things that made her a great doctor was her unyielding commitment to the truth between a doctor and her patient. That quality drove House up the wall, because that was exactly one of the things he DIDN'T believe in. It was the basis of a lot of arguments between she and House, and surprisingly enough, he gave in to her a lot more than anyone though he would. Most people figured it was because he likes her more than he'd want anyone to know (the hospital's WORST kept secret, by the way!), but Eric was convinced, having watched most of their battles in person, that he gave in to her in part because she constantly reminded him that patients weren't THINGS, or PUZZLES—they were people. And Alison Cameron would never lose sight of that, Eric was sure--as long as she lived.

THAT was why he asked her to be his medical proxy, instead of his father.

The reasons he'd given her at the time were all true. But what he really wanted, what he absolutely needed from her was her passion for the person under her care. His father loved him, and would do anything for him, Eric knew—but that in itself was the reason that made him a poor choice for the proxy. Alison, as his doctor, would find the right amount of distance while still respecting his wishes, he knew. And he was right, even as much as she'd protested her qualifications to him. She'd thought that his father would be the best choice. And, when she heard Eric's reasons for his decision, he saw that she still had doubts. But he also knew that she'd do what she had to do for him – friendship or no.

And afterward, if he made it through the surgery and the slow recovery, maybe then she'd finally forgive him.

As it turned out, though, she'd reversed things on him a little bit. She'd forgiven him, just before he went under the anesthetic prior to the procedure…and THEN proceeded to save his life with House's help.

Typical Cameron, he thought to himself, a small grin working its' way to his face.

He almost chuckled, but he was still slightly groggy and tired from everything his body'd been through the past few days. His father had finally gone home the day before, convinced (mostly by Cameron) that he was recovering well, and would slowly get back to normal with rest. Chase, Wilson, and Cuddy all visited a few times a day, and even House stuck his head in once or twice—usually to ask when he was "gonna get off his African-American butt and start doing some real work again!"

See, that's where the "bastard" part of his boss's new "nickname" comes in.

Cameron saw him several times a day (she was still his proxy and primary-care physician), but he had a feeling she'd have been in to see him just as much if she weren't his doctor.

Oh, she came by to review his charts and check on him as his doctor, but they'd found themselves also having these nice little conversations—as if they were getting to know each other for the first time. It _was_ nice, and also a little weird all at once. He'd found out more about her in the past week than he'd known in all the time they'd worked together. Who knew, for instance, that Alison Cameron was a huge football fan…or that she sewed and knitted garments well enough to be stopped on the street by women asking her where they could buy her clothes (some that she'd made herself), and then be offered MONEY to make blouses, skirts, and other stuff for them! She'd told him these things hesitatingly, as though she'd expected him to laugh at her—but he was truly amazed, and told her so—which earned him one of her blinding smiles and a throaty laugh…like the one she'd given him when he'd finally woken up from the biopsy to find her, House, and his dad leaning over him. He heard House's gruff "up and at 'em", but his gaze had been locked on Alison's face—and her expression told him he'd made it. And then, when House had tested his memory and he'd responded with House's "pet name", she'd laughed _that_ laugh—with big tears, seemingly unnoticed, rolling down her face.

He'd never heard her laugh like that before.

It was a deeper, throatier, full-bodied laugh than she'd ever given before in his presence. It seemed to be overflowing with emotions. And he wanted to hear it, that laugh, again. He suddenly wanted to be the person who could make her laugh like that.

And so he'd asked her, when she told him about her football and sewing joneses, if she'd ever considered combining the two and knitting covers for guys' footballs. She'd laughed, after first swatting his shoulder and letting her hand come to rest on his bare arm, gazing at him with a fond look that made him grin up at her in return. He remembered the rest of that conversation…

"There's just one problem with the football thing," she continued after their chuckles had finally gone away.

"Which is?" he asked.

"Well, as much as I love the sport, I still don't know a lot about the technical parts of it, like specific plays and formations and stuff like that. I always thought my husband would teach me, but he went away so quickly that…" Her face clouded over, and she looked away from him…the grief of losing her husband raw on her face. He could feel the hand still on his arm trembling, and he reached over to cover it with his own.

"Well, when you finally decide to spring me from this place, maybe – if you want to, that is - we can hang out on some Sunday, and watch some college ball. We're still a few months away from the pro season, but I can get you started with the college game if you want. Most of those schools run pro offenses now, anyway…"

She was looking at him so intently that he paused. "What?"

"This isn't some kind of thank-you again for saving your life stuff, is it? Because we're fine, Eric—really." I knew we were; and, anyway, she would have told me if things still weren't right between us.

"Yeah, I know we are, Cameron. And, no, it isn't. I just thought that we could hang out. Who knows—I might even put up with a **short** discussion of knitting—OWW!" She'd playfully punched him on his shoulder, big grins breaking out on each of their faces. "Hey - doctors AREN'T supposed to beat up their patients—unless you're House!" he told her. "You're not channeling him, are you? Cause, if you are, I don't want you managing my meds anymore!", he told her in a mock-frightened voice…rubbing his shoulder at the same time.

She shook her head, her dark hair falling in parts across her clear, angular face. For some reason, she wore her hair down, instead of her usual bun or some other put-up, convenient arrangement. I had a strange sudden need to brush it away from her eyes--and immediately wondered to myself where THAT thought had come from. She quirked an eyebrow down at me—she was sitting next to me on my bed, instead of in the chair nearby.

"Oh, come on…I didn't hit you_ that_ hard. And what a terrible thing to say-me channeling House! That's so rude, Eric!" She still had a grin on her face, chuckling with him. "But once _again_, I'll forgive you—and accept the offer. Thanks." He nodded.

"So, when can I get out of here?" I asked, hoping that she hadn't noticed anything on my face that would reveal what I'd just been thinking. She watched me, narrowing her eyes for a second, and then continued speaking.

"Well, you have two more neurology visits—" and she stopped, holding up a hand. "_Yes_, Eric, I realize that **you're** a neurologist—"

"a _brilliant_ neurologist.…" I murmured, looking up at the ceiling and trying to ignore the balled fist she was slowly and silently threatening me with, as she continued talking as if I hadn't interrupted her, "--_and_ that you don't think they're necessary, but that's protocol—and part of the escape. Okay?" She had me there—in part because I'd helped Cuddy and the board_ write_ the damn protocols.

"Okay." I sighed, and her hand tightened for a moment on my arm in sympathy, pausing for a moment. Then, sighing, she continued speaking in a quiet voice.

"Cuddy's also mentioned that she wants to examine you herself before any talk of release gets serious."

"Damn!" I couldn't believe it. Next thing you know, Wilson will want to check for cancer!

"--and then you know House has to sign off on it, too. We still work for him, you know."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. What does Cuddy want in on the pain for? What did I do to her?"

Cameron gave him another sympathetic smile, and moved her hand from my arm to my shoulder, squeezing it gently with her thin fingers. "Eric, I think she just wants to make sure things are OK during your convalescence, so that when you come back, you're totally healthy and ready to work. She's ultimately responsible for everything we do as doctors, too—it's really just 'CYA'."

I knew that I shouldn't get frustrated about the whole thing—she wasn't telling me anything I didn't know (or couldn't see coming) myself, after all. And it wasn't fair dumping my frustrations on her. I grinned up at her, gently touching her hand that still rested on my shoulder with my cheek for a brief moment, while adding a childlike, plaintive look to my face…in hopes of bumping up the sympathy factor a little bit. _That_ little move always seemed to work on my mom when I was growing up.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Alison. Sorry about dumping on you." She nodded once, and then a gleam appeared in her eye that puzzled me, until she spoke again, still carefully watching my face.

"Don't worry about it, Foreman—" 'Uh oh', I thought. If she's going back to last names, then that means—

"..and _don't_ try that admittedly very cute and flirtatious move with me, mister! It's not gonna work!" Her face was half stern doctor, and half laughing at my suddenly wary, 'caught' look.

Damn. Caught and hoisted by my own petard. What the hell IS a 'petard', anyway?

I held up my hands. "Man, you got me. How did you know--?"

She giggled. "One of your nurses told me about it. Her son has a very similar 'face', as she called it, so she knew exactly what _you_ were trying to pull!" Her face threatened to break in two from the big grin it carried…while mine held a scowl.

"I want her fired, immediately!" I growled in frustration, which got me one of _those_ throaty laughs.

"Sorry, Eric—I think Cuddy gave her a raise for being "observant"!" She was laughing hard by this time, and I couldn't help the grin that made its' way onto my own face. Both of us missed our boss watching us through the glass walls of the room, but the sudden sound of his cane banging on the glass, and the crooked finger he pointed in her direction, wiped all of our glee away in an instant. She turned away, glaring at him for a second, and then looked back at me.

"Well, gotta go. I need to finish clinic duty, and then I'll come back by, OK?" Her hand, which had never left my shoulder, slowly and reluctantly it seemed to me, lifted up and away, accompanied by a sigh. I then noticed some darkness under her eyes, and decided to be gallant for once. We both knew that she'd often been staying after her shift had ended, keeping me company—usually by sitting in a chair next to my bed as I slept. I'd woken a few times during the nights to see her there, a book in her lap as she either read or dozed; depending on the time of night and the kind of day she'd had. I have to admit, I never once asked her to go on home and get some rest—I enjoyed knowing she was close by too much to get her to rest. Well, that had to stop. She obviously wasn't getting enough sleep, and if we were really going to try to be real friends to each other, I had to pull my share.

"Alison," I began, as she started to stand up from sitting next to me in the bed, "Why don't you go on home after shift? You've been spending too many hours here, keeping an eye on me. I'm doing a lot better, and you should sleep in your own bed before you forget how it feels."

More banging from House's cane on the wall came as she began speaking. We both turned as one to glare at him--with no effect. House just pointed at his watch, and then at her, then down—I was in a room two floors above the clinic, so I knew he wanted her down there; no doubt to do his damn hours for him.

She threw another frigid glance his way, held up a finger (a nice one; this _was _Alison Cameron we're talking about, after all!), and then turned to me as she stood, straightening her hospital coat as she slowly moved away towards the door.

"I'm fine, Eric. I'll head home tonight, OK—but I WILL stop by before I leave to see you. And don't try to talk me out of it, or I'll tack on another day to your sentence!" she mock-threatened, as we both smiled at each other.

"Thanks, Cameron," I told her. Truth was, I hadn't been sleeping well some nights after the surgery, and she'd helped—a lot. If only by just being there, sitting with me. Other times, we'd just talk about anything until I'd finally drift off. They were weaning me off of all of the drugs I'd been on during the infection and surgery, and she didn't want to introduce sleeping aids into my system unless there was no other choice. I appreciated her cautiousness and certainty that I could adjust back to normal on my own without medication. I was still on the occasional pain-killer, but that was it. I wanted to get completely healthy again as quickly as I could, and Alison was with me every step of the way.

"Hey, Eric…" she murmured as she finally reached my door.

"Yeah?" I whispered back to her. Another thing I'd learned about Alison Cameron during this ordeal; she had exceptional hearing.

"Do you think we could just call each other by our first names? I mean, I get a little tired of the just 'Cameron' thing from everyone most of the time, and…I mean, if you're not comfortable with that--"

"Sure—Alison. And for the record, _I_ get tired of it, too. I like it when you use my first name." I gave her a smile as I settled back onto my bed. She returned it with one of her own, and I was once again struck by just how beautiful she really was.

"Thanks, Eric. Later, then?" I nodded, giving her a little wave. "Say hello to the manipulative bastard for me, willya?"

She laughed as she opened the door, while an impatient House glared suspiciously back and forth between them—which caused them both to laugh.

"See ya," I told her as the door swished shut and I watched her walk away, with House seemingly giving her a hard time as he gestured wildly with his cane.

The smile that was on her face when she left my room never once faded as I watched her walk away.


	2. Chapter 2

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow: Part 2 (Cameron)"**

…a "House, M.D." story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating:** PG

**Raeviewers: To"Suzy87": Thanks **for the compliments! Yes, I am alternating POVs between she and Eric throughout the story (and I have NO idea how long this will be; probably as long as it takes for me to be able to leave them where I think they will end up) I tried to write Eric with a little bit more sensitivity than he's usually portrayed (being around House can "coarsen" people a tad, I think!) because I think that's what Omar Epps would do if given the chance.

**To "AnGel-607":** I agree – why don't people write more stories about these two? They're definitely MORE interesting to me than, say….Chase!

**To Zylstra:** Glad you loved it, and hope you like the rest of the story!

**To "SoggyPhoenix":** You're absolutely right – I did have major problems with my first person-third person transitions. Chalk it up to not enough editing before I submitted it. Please continue to keep me on my toes! I became even more a fan of the show, too, after the two "Euphoria" episodes – and of Jennifer Morrison & Omar Epps. Man, what a great job those two did!

**Author's note:** Thanks to everyone who has read the story so far, and who have taken time to review – I appreciate the comments and suggestions! I'm going to take one very much to heart and stay in first-person voice for the rest of the tale…challenge myself a little bit more in order to dig deeper into these two people's hearts and souls.

**CAMERON**

The varied sounds of the hospital, even on the private floor Eric's room was located on surrounded House and I, his gruff tones and gravel-voiced verbal digs starting right in on me once we'd left the relative quiet around Eric's room. "You know you're supposed to be down in the clinic _right now_, Cameron … instead of tending to your newest _project_-slash-_boyfriend_?" House's typically casual way of cutting a person down was in full force, his tongue seemingly working in lock-step with his cane as he limped beside me, making our way down the hallways of the hospital towards the elevators on Eric's floor. I tried to stifle my own sarcasm, only just stopping myself, since all it seemed to do these days was make our conversations even worse. House seemed to take personal offense at the amount of time I'd been spending with Eric as he recovered from the infection that almost killed him; still, I had no intention whatsoever in changing my decisions about time management just to placate him. Even though we'd basically found the cause of Eric's disease at the same time, House seemed to consider it HIS success; as if the difficult decisions I'd had to make at the time meant nothing whatsoever. Which shouldn't surprise me at all. But, it really wasn't important to me, because all that mattered to me at the time was finding out what was wrong with Eric and getting him healthy again.

I could feel my sight turning inward, as if I were letting go of small, meaningless thoughts and feelings like letting sand flow through my fingers…& the ones that stayed with me arranged themselves in a different pattern in my subconscious. Maybe THAT was the real reason Eric did what he did regarding his proxy; he knew me well enough to know that, no matter what happened, or what was happening between us…I would do what I needed to find the answer.

Ignoring House's rantings in the elevator; which caused him to suddenly and without warning invade my personal space as a tactic to get my full attention on him; but only managed to run up against the outer wall of my musings, while I let my thoughts on Eric continue their flow.

He _knew_ that I was extremely upset with him, furious with his casual dismissal of our relationship and my feelings about the paper we'd jointly worked on…and yet, he didn't hesitate to put his life in my hands—not House, or his dad, or anyone else on the team…but me.

House would have done everything possible to save Eric; in spite of all the horrible things House says to him, I KNOW he respects Eric on some level (and Eric in turn has a respect for House that, honestly, throws me for a loop sometimes) and House is clearly the best, most experienced diagnostician at the hospital (if most of the country); and yet, Eric picked me.

I couldn't believe it when he'd asked me to be his proxy. Of all the things I thought he'd say…_that_ was the last thing I would have expected to hear from him. And his reasons had sounded convincing, but I sensed that there _was _more to it underneath. But there wasn't time to figure it out. Eric was sinking fast, and in a few more hours, none of it would have mattered. All I could do was focus on the problem, and do what he depended on me to do.

I couldn't bring myself to forgive him, though…and I felt like the worst human being who'd ever lived when I'd turned him down. Was I just being stubborn, proud, or merely hurtful, as he'd been to me? At that moment, as he stared back up at me in shock and surprise, then turning away from me with what looked like all of the world's despair in his dark eyes, I knew that I couldn't tell him the real reason I'd refused his plea.

I _had_ to. There wasn't any other choice for me; my gut told me at the time.

Because the despair I'd seen in his eyes, which felt to me like falling into two infinite wells of darkness that no one could ever climb out of, I knew, just _knew_ without a doubt, that if I had forgiven him at that moment, he would have stopped fighting as hard to stay alive. He wanted my forgiveness because he thought he was dying, and I could sense that a part of his plea was because he'd started to "wrap up loose ends", in a way.

And I was a part of his list.

All of that came to me in a flash of insight as we locked eyes, and even though I could see the sincerity and pleading in his dark, desperate, pain-filled eyes; along with all of the helplessness I knew he was feeling—I couldn't let him do that. I couldn't give him any reason to stop fighting, or even to slow down.

If we were to save him—he had to work and fight as hard as the rest of us.

And so, I told him…no. And died just a little inside as I did, because I also knew that the time he had left was short, shorter than House thought.

And that the moment when it became necessary to order the procedure that would likely leave him impaired or worse, even if it did work, was drawing closer as well.

House and I finally reached the clinic, and I paused before entering to watch him continue down the hall (probably to an early lunch with Wilson) before I passed through the glass doors, immediately assaulted by the cacophony of sick people waiting for help. Heading over to the nurse's station while ignoring the looks of gratitude they were sending my way, my inner thoughts kept flowing in their own direction, as I thought back to the events of a few days ago.

The prelude, the opening act of whether my judgment would save or kill Eric, came during the emotional confrontation in Cuddy's office. I didn't think she would overturn Eric's decision—the paper was legally executed, with Eric's full consent. Not even his father's wishes could change that, as much as I (or House) might have wanted them to. Part of me felt unprepared for the decision, or its' consequences—damn Eric's faith in me or not.

But I also wouldn't allow Cuddy to forget the possible consequences of her responsibilities, or allow House to ignore the law. I used that moment to remind Cuddy, in what for me was a very uncharacteristic emotional outburst in her presence, that it was _her_ decision, in part, which brought us all to that point. House, in typical fashion, thought it was an opening he could use to pry me away from my determination to see things through--with or without his help.

Clipboard in hand, the first of my patients silently followed my crooked finger as we headed towards one of the exam rooms, my distracted air almost preventing me from noticing the strange look she gave me as she began describing her symptoms. I was barely listening, we both knew, just enough to nod at what were hopefully the right times, my mind jumping back to the conversation House and I had after we'd left Cuddy's office.

I think, arguing with him in the hallway before he left to return to the cop's apartment in order to find an answer, finally convinced him that I was unyielding in my determination to follow through as Eric's doctor and proxy. It also helped to show me that we were both trying to find the same results; as much as it may feel at that moment as if we weren't.

As it turned out, we were both right, and right at just about the same time; just _not_ in time to prevent us (me) from using the procedure that carried a fair chance of leaving Eric a vegetable.

All of that, and more, I screamed out to the walls of my apartment later that night…after we'd ended Eric's biopsy and started him on the drugs that would remove the parasite that was causing the infection…and after finally stumbling home, punch-drunk with fatigue and stress, having been put in a cab by Wilson…after first refusing to leave the hospital once Eric had been taken to recovery. I'm sure that my neighbors thought my tantrum was some kind of alcohol-induced rage…the sounds of me throwing objects against the walls of my place and the wails of my tears finally slowing down to quiet exhaustion as I slumped against the wall of my living room…despair after what I'd done, _had_ to do, to someone who I still thought of as a friend…clutching at my heart.

The only thing I could really hang onto for any sort of comfort was the knowledge that I'd finally forgiven him before he slipped under the anesthetic in preparation for the biopsy. At least he had that, while still in reasonable control of his faculties; he had gone under, knowing that I'd finally forgiven him.

What neither he nor I knew for sure was whether he'd remember it at all if--or when--he woke up.

So we all waited. And waited. All of us–House, Cuddy, Chase, Wilson, and I-taking turns checking his condition, going over his tests…but left in the end with just the waiting; his dad and I never far from his bed, while I fought a creeping, soul-numbing exhaustion I hadn't felt since medical school.

Finally, a few days later, Eric started to stir. And as it happened, I was there; along with his dad and House. I watched, unable to breathe as his eyes slowly opened, searching for focus as House told him, "up and at 'em," in a surprisingly gentle voice. Eric blinked a couple of times, then asked—to no one in particular--his voice weak and scratchy from disuse, how he was doing. And all I could do—still speechless at his seemingly normal cognitive state--was to return his sharpening gaze. House gave him a succinct, brutal, but honest appraisal of his condition; then asked Eric to identify all of us. And when Eric correctly identified his dad and I, even using House's "pet name"; I felt the dam finally break inside, as the doctor part of me recognized the incredibly good signs in Eric's ability, just out of a coma, of recognizing everyone around him…while using his admittedly snarky sense of humor to do so.

He was watching me, studying my face, looking for answers to his condition. I turned tear-streaked eyes to him, while giving him a smile and a deep. heartfelt laugh that caused House to glance over at me in surprise.

"You did the biopsy?" Eric asked me as I blinked away the tears. I nodded, hoping I didn't look too emotional in front of him. He returned my nod, glanced at my wet face before returning to my eyes, and asked in a stronger voice, "What did I have?" When I told him about the parasite, and how both House and I had discovered it at the same time, Eric sighed deeply…his eyes never leaving my face.

A few more minutes of talking, and then House and I left him alone with his father. I told Eric before we left that I'd be back later, as House rolled his eyes; Eric seemed pleased, as if he would have a chance to continue an important conversation that had been interrupted. While House returned to his office to tell Cuddy, Chase, and Wilson that Eric had awoken, I slowly made my way to the women's restroom.

After stumbling into a stall and sitting down, I finally let all of the pent-up stress and worry out in deep, ragged sobs and stuttering breaths, hoping no one would come in until it was out of my system. And when I was finally finished, and I'd washed my face and regained enough control, I left the restroom; only to almost bump into Wilson, who'd apparently had been standing there waiting for me. His caring brown eyes found mine, and his hand reached up to rest on my shoulder.

"Alison – one of the nurses just told me that Eric woke up. I'm glad; we all are. Are you OK?"

I felt his care through the touch, and though Wilson was like an older brother to me, I didn't want to open up all the way with him, still feeling raw and exposed. I blew out a sigh, putting what I hoped was a convincing smile on my face.

"I'm fine, Wilson … just had to clean up a little, that's all." We slowly began walking together, drifting in a general way back towards Diagnostics. I wanted to tell Chase, if he hadn't heard already; (and if House hadn't bothered to tell him), that Eric was awake.

Wilson sighed gently, and squeezed my shoulder a little more. "Alison, I heard you in there. It's OK—I know a lot about what's been happening between you and Foreman through all this. It's natural to want to let all of that go. Just remember—you carried out his wishes, and he made it because of you."

"—and House," I replied in what I hoped was a not-too-bitter voice. Wilson gave me a single nod.

"—and House," he agreed. "But Alison, Eric picked _you_ as his doctor, even with House here. You realize how _significant_ that is—especially after what he did to you with the article? You're a great doctor, Alison; don't ever forget that. This just proves it."

Typical Wilson, trying to play staff "counselor" again—and being very good at it, as usual. I gave him a real smile this time as we reached the elevators.

Fourteen patients later and right before the skies around the hospital decided to finally open up with the storms that had been threatening the area all day, I was finally finished for the day. I could have spent some time going through House's emails, trying to stay ahead of all of the requests he received on a daily basis, but I decided enough was enough for one day. All I wanted to do was gather my things and leave, right after looking in on my patient on the third floor.

I barely spoke at all to House as I stopped in the Diagnostics department offices to say good night…Chase having already left to try to beat the rains, it seemed. House was at his Gameboy, but I got the feeling it didn't have his full attention. I dropped some papers on Eric's case on his desk, and whispered "good night, House" before turning to leave for the elevators. His deep voice interrupted me—damn, just when I thought I'd make it out without any confrontation.

"Leaving for the night, Cameron?" was his first utterance. I was surprised—I thought he'd head right into Foreman/Cameron territory.

"Yeah," I told him. "I want to beat as much of the storm as I can."

"I can give you a ride, if you want—I'm using my car this week."

I paused, wondering where this was leading. He hadn't offered to give me a ride in months—and he knew that I had my car with me.

"No, thanks, House—got the jalopy in a nice, dry parking space in the underground lot, courtesy of Dr. Matthews leaving on vacation for a month." Matthews was one of the doctors House especially despised at the hospital, and snorted in derision. I decided to head him off before he launched into any rants; I really just wanted to see Eric, and then go home and soak in my tub.

"OK, then—see you in the morning. Bright and earlier, since you've been letting Diagnostics slide a bit due to all of the time you've spent on the third floor lately," his needling voice reached out to me in the relative darkness of the office.

I sighed heavily, deciding once again to try to set him onto another hunt.

"House, he's my patient, and your employee—don't you have _any_ interest in him getting better so that he can come back to work sooner rather than later?" House finally looked up at me, a look of disappointment in his blue-grey eyes.

"Cameron, you need to face facts. Forman's got a long road ahead of him, and he may not get all of his cognitive functions and memory back enough to be useful around here. You've seen the latest neurological reports; he's showing definite signs of decreased function—' I cut him off before he could go any further.

"Wait just a minute, House—you know as well as I do that his mental state, and his willingness to recover any lost function, is key in cases like Foreman's. I can't believe you're giving up on him so quickly—what if it were me, Cuddy, or even Wilson? Would you cut any of us loose just as easily before seeing if we had what it took to fight back to health?" I was practically screaming at him by this point. Frustratingly, he just sat there, watching me like a kid looking through a cage at a strange creature in the zoo. All I wanted to do was to throw something at him…a feeling he brought out in me way too often, especially lately. It was several moments before he finally decided to answer me.

"Cameron, all I'm saying is that you have to be prepared for anything. Your naïve way of looking at patients can be detrimental sometimes—and never very realistic. Even someone as tough as Foreman is can come out of this with some loss—and don't forget; this is the same guy that screwed you out of credit on that article just the other week!"

My voice was ice-cold as I glared at him, literally shaking in anger.

"What the hell should any of _that _matter right now, House? Are you saying I should be thinking about doing something to make sure he _can't_ practice medicine anymore, to _get back at him_—is that what _you'd_ do in this situation? Well, some of us just want to get Foreman back any way we can—because the guy is a good doctor, and has helped save enough lives around here that he definitely deserves_ his_ back—all of it!" By the time I'd reached the end of my rant, a small smirk had appeared on his craggy, unshaven face.

"Are you sure that's as far as your 'interest' goes, Cameron?"

I stopped, frozen at the implication in his cold voice—shuddering as I tried to control my rage at his insinuation. I knew he'd said that mostly to get a reaction—any-reaction—out of me, and I wasn't going to give him what he was looking for.

Snatching my purse from the conference table, I turned and stormed out…my mental state mirroring the storm outside of the windows, as the thunder and lightning started to make its' presence known throughout the building. I didn't want, couldn't hear, anything more out of House's mouth tonight. Angrily striding to the elevators, I sensed his eyes on me…following me until I turned out of sight of the office. By the time I'd finally reached the elevator doors and had stabbed the UP button about a thousand times, I'd gotten my breathing back under some sort of control. I reached up to massage my temples as the car finally arrived, I'd stepped in, the doors starting to close after I'd hit the lighted "3" for Eric's floor. I didn't want to see him upset like this, so I tried to regain some form of control before arriving at his room.

Before I realized it, the elevator had reached Eric's floor, and I nearly ran over a nurse who was just getting on as I exited. "Sorry," I mumbled to her—one of Eric's night nurses, I saw—and she smiled at me in a forgiving way. "Good night", I told her as the doors started to close. "Oh, Dr. Cameron—"she started, halting the closing doors with her purse. "Dr. Foreman's asleep, I think. I checked on him about 20 minutes ago, and it looked like he was drifting off. His vitals are all normal, and he looks like he's resting. I knew you'd want to know."

"Thanks, Nurse Evans," reading the name tag on her uniform to make sure I used her correct name. "I'm just going to check in on him—I promise not to wake him if I can help it." She smiled again, and spoke as the doors were closing between us. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind; he seems to do better when you're around." I couldn't be positive, but I thought I saw a gleam in the nurse's eyes as the doors closed. I gave the shining metal facing me a small grin, and then turned to head to Eric's room.

As I drew close to the glass walls that separated one side of his room from the hallway, I noticed that he was lying on his side, facing the window. I was sure that, if he was still awake, he'd see me coming in from the reflections in the window. But it was hard for me to tell if he was indeed asleep, and I slowed, quieting my walk as much as I could as I drew close to the sliding door. Before I could decide whether to actually go in or just let him sleep, he turned away from the window and shifted position in the bed, turning to face me with a grin. I returned it, still watching his face as I slid the doors open, and then closed them behind me. I slowly headed to the charts at the foot of the bed, intending to do a review before leaving, when Eric gave a little laugh, causing me to meet his eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, adjusting the covers and pillows on the bed. I gave him a smile.

"Hey, yourself," I answered, finally looking down at the charts in my hand…the relative darkness of the room decreasing whenever a bolt of lightning arced across the sky outside. "How are you feeling?"

Eric shrugged.

"I'm doing fine, Alison—and you look tired. Either that, or you and House just argued about something. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference with you,' he spoke in an amused voice. "Why don't you just sit down for a while, and rest your feet. I know you were in the clinic this afternoon, and you're probably planning on soaking in some of that girlie-smelling stuff you use when you get home tonight." I was sure that my pleasure at hearing him use my first name easily showed on my face, so, in order to cover my reaction as much as I could, I stuck my tongue out at him; too tired for more than a small laugh, I finally settling into the chair next to his bed with a sigh. I had to admit, I was a little shaken by his too-easy, correct diagnosis of my emotional state, and I wondered just how much attention he paid to be able to read me that well. Rubbing my temple again, which brought another grin to his face—which I answered with a fake glare—I shook my hair loose from the band I usually used during work hours. Eric watched me carefully, waiting patiently for me to get settled before I finally answered.

"Well, O great swami, you are correct, sir—it's been a long day, and House was his usual bastard self tonight," I told him. "I just didn't want to deal with him as I was leaving the offices, but he just couldn't let things go…" My voice trailed off; because I wasn't at all sure whether I should tell Eric that he was the subject of tonight's argument. True to form, though, he saw something in my expression as I looked away from him to stare out of the window…the rivulets of water carving paths across the glass, lit from behind by the storm raging outside.

"What things, Alison?" he asked quietly, still studying me as I reluctantly turned back to face him. I got the distinct feeling Eric already had a good guess about what (or rather, whom) House and I had argued about, and it was that sense that finally convinced me to go ahead and tell him. I sighed, my fingers pulling at each other in my lap. Eric raised an eyebrow, just enough for me to see in the weak light from the lamp by his bed.

"Well…you, actually. He doesn't seem to be too impressed with your neurological tests so far—"

"—which means he thinks I'm not gonna come back all the way," Eric finished. I gave him a bleak look, and then slowly nodded. He held my gaze for another moment, and then finally looked away towards the ceiling. I waited, not quite knowing what to say at that moment, or what was going through his mind.

"He might be right, you know," he whispered into the darkness of the room.

I stared at him, wondering where this was coming from. "Eric---" I began, but he held up a hand.

"It's a possibility that I have to face, Alison. You know that as well as I do."

I nodded slowly, watching his face as carefully as he watched mine. "I do, Eric. And if that happens, we'll face it and fix it somehow. I'm not letting your career, your _life,_ go away because of this dammed infection!"

He gave me a very intent, wonder-filled, look.

"_We'll_ face it?" he asked, a trace of humor seeping into his deep, soft voice, along with a hint of a smile on his dark face.

I immediately realized just what I'd said—or, at least, how it sounded—and my hand went straight to my face, trying to hide in embarrassment. What was I thinking…what was happening to me? The very last time I'd gotten so emotional with a patient was…with my husband. And it had cost me, dearly; in trying to hang onto the life he and I had planned out for us…and then to see it be ripped away so quickly…almost destroyed me. I swore I wouldn't ever get _that_ involved, or invest myself in anything to that degree again—except for my career. Work was all I had after my husband had died, and I didn't know when I'd started grieving—or even if I'd stopped. The counselor I went to at the time told me that the process would work itself out in its' own time, but that I needed to be careful that, in going through it, I didn't let the grief change me so much that I lost my sense of who I was.

Was that part of what was happening here? What was it about this situation that brought me back to such a raw place in my life? How was Eric connected to it all? I shook my head; answers I didn't have. All I had was this _sense,_ this…conviction…that somehow, in trying to repair my relationship with Eric while helping him get his health back, that it would help me finally resolve that still-open chapter of my life.

I looked at him, a million thoughts rushing through my mind all at once, while he waited for me to speak. Again, I shook myself, and gave him a little shrug.

"I'm sorry, Eric; I guess I spaced out there for a minute. Yes, we'll face it—I mean, if you'd like some help…" His eyes crinkled in thought, then turned back towards the window. It was several moments before he started speaking again.

"I've been lying here, trying to think worst-case scenario. What if I can't do the work anymore, or be a good enough doctor to help people? What if I forget something important, or jumble up someone's medicine and a patient pays for it? I can't let that happen, Alison…but I don't want to give this up, either. All I ever wanted to do was to be a doctor. So, if I can…maybe I could lean on you when I need to…until all this gets resolved?"

I stood slowly, and went to sit next to him on his bed. He moved back a little in order to make room for me, and I laid a hand on his arm…our eyes never leaving each others' faces.

"Whatever you need, Eric—I'm here. And not just as your doctor, but as a friend. Just ask."

A week ago, I would have been shocked at the warmth and gratefulness in Eric's eyes when I'd finished —but now, it just felt, I hoped, like it ought to be; between two friends.

"Thanks, Alison. I really do appreciate it. Just keep House and Chase away from my stuff, please! And, I promise—no peeking at any papers that might happen to be lying around, either." We both laughed, and then he suddenly yawned. "I should let you sleep," I told him, slowly starting to get up to go. He grabbed my hand, gently, keeping me close. "Wait—please hang around a few minutes more, okay? Just until I drift off." The look in his eyes was something I couldn't resist, even if I wanted to—and I didn't. "I usually go to sleep with a little soft music, but there's no radio in this room." I nodded, dropping back into the chair beside him.

"I'll bring you one tomorrow. And if you want anything from home, let me know. Now, no more yakking. Close your eyes and get some rest—doctor's orders." He grinned and nodded, and I squeezed his hand in mine; smiling as I reached up with the other hand to turn off the one small remaining lamp in the room…leaving the half-drawn curtained window as the only source of light. I slid the chair under me a little closer to the bed, my hand never leaving the warmth of his as he got comfortable…turning on his side facing me, and burrowing into his pillow. I leaned towards the bed, placing both elbows on the mattress for support, and took turns glancing between Eric's face in the semi-darkness, and the storm outside through the window. In the midst of all that power and violence just past the glass, I felt strangely more at peace here at this moment, than I'd felt in a long while.

After a few minutes, I could hear Eric's breathing even out, and gently removed my hand from his. Standing up as quietly as I could, I reached over to adjust the blankets over him, even though the room felt warm despite the chilled look of the storm. Watching him sleep for a few more seconds, I smiled gently, knowing that my own sleep would be peaceful once I'd gotten home and finally reached my own bed…my dreams hopefully filled with sights of my new (again) friend.

Tiptoeing out of the room, I was grateful that the maintenance staff kept the sliding doors well lubricated; Eric didn't stir as I left the room. He told me once, back when we first started working for House, that he was one of those people who found it hard getting back to sleep after being awakened; I definitely didn't want to rob him of any rest tonight. After closing his door, I stood there in thought, watching him for another few seconds, and then turned to leave.

Sitting on my bed in my favorite robe, after finally getting home and giving myself a well-deserved 30 minute soak in the tub, I glanced over at the nightstand, and saw that a message had come in for me on my cell while I was in the bath. Not surprising that I'd missed it; I'd drifted off a little bit while under the suds, and House himself couldn't have roused me from my relaxed state. Picking up the phone, I saw the hospital's phone number displayed. Immediately thinking that something had happened with Eric or that we had a change in one of the other patients Diagnostics was presently treating, I grabbed my pager with my other hand from the stand. No emergency alerts there; hmm. Wonder what…well, Alison, there's one way to find out—listen to the phone message, I scolded myself. Accessing the voice mail, I was shocked to hear Eric's sleepy voice coming from the speaker.

"Hey, Alison. It's Eric. Listen, I'm sorry for calling so late, I just woke up after a pretty loud lightning strike somewhere close by rattled my room. Everything's fine, though. I just wanted to make sure you got home OK. It looks pretty nasty out there, and I forgot to ask how you were getting home before I dozed off. So, anyway…um, I hope you're home safe, and probably using that girly bubbly stuff of yours that kept you from answering the phone. Don't call back—the rains here have finally stopped, and I think the storm's clearing. I'm going to try to get back to sleep. I just wanted to check on you; see you in the morning, 'Doctor A'. Sweet dreams."

Wow.

I just sat there, shaking my head in amazement. That _had_ to be one of the sweetest messages I've ever gotten. There he is, lying in a hospital just days after almost dying…and _he's_ calling _me_ to make sure_ I'm_ OK. I leaned back against the headboard of my bed, the now-closed phone still in my hand. He called while I was in the bath. I usually take my phone in with me, because the walls and doors of this place are so thick, it's hard to hear the phone between rooms sometimes. Otherwise, I would have gotten to talk to him again. Maybe I should have stayed at the hospital a little longer, or maybe I should call back, anyway. But, if he's asleep again, I can't wake him. I sighed.

We're both OK, I thought to myself, and it'll keep till the morning.

I got ready for bed, turning off all of the lights in my room, making sure the cell was on and sitting in the charger, before climbing underneath my comforter and closing my eyes.

"'Doctor A'" … hmmm ….

I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face.


	3. Chapter 3

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow: Part 3 Foreman"**

…a "House, M.D." story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating:** PG

**Reviewers: **

To** "Ella Twain": **Hi! I think people naturally go for the House/Cameron pairing because of the "May-December" aspect of it. To me, it's just a way for the show writers to introduce tension; if these two people were friends of mine, they would be the very last people I'd ever expect to get together. Say, less than a 10 chance. Now, she and Foreman … well, I think they rate a higher chance – and through this story, I hope to show everyone just why I feel that way. I totally agree with you about both Chase and Foreman ( can you imagine Foreman kissing a pre-teen girl for ANY reason, or settling for someone who couldn't match him intellectually???) I would love to see an interview where they are talking to both Omar and Jennifer about the way they went about filming those two episodes; I'm sure it would be fascinating!

To** "Soggy Phoenix":** Wow … "beautiful"! That's a word I didn't expect – you're very kind!

To** "EA Simpson":** Sorry that you don't like the idea behind the pairing of these two characters; that's disappointing. I do appreciate the things you had to say about my writing, though. Thanks.

**FOREMAN**

I shouldn't have called her.

I really shouldn't.

If I were in my right mind, I wouldn't have. But … something's happened to me since the infection and the surgery. I mean, I'm the same, but … different. It was the strangest feeling I've ever had … waking up and thinking everything around and in me was the same—just as I was before the biopsy, but; not the same. I think, now that I've had some time to fully process the turmoil I was in when I opened my eyes, that if Alison hadn't been there when I woke up, I would have freaked out. Her presence, her face; even her tears and laughter … they were all anchors for me, placeholders that I grabbed for and held onto on the inside, while trying to be as cool and collected on the outside for my dad, who really didn't need to see his son wake up … having apparently lost his mind.

Or my boss, the previously mentioned "manipulative bastard", who would have written me off as a lost cause; as well as an unneeded employee.

Or … and especially, Alison.

And even _that_ thought was so foreign to me. Still is, a little bit. Because one of the things that I sensed had changed was the way that I thought and felt about her. I suppose it may have started before the biopsy, when we were working out the details of the medical proxy. She kept asking me if I _knew_ what I was doing … if I was sure about her acting as my proxy. I had been considering it as the illness/infection made its' ways through my body … before I'd finally asked her, as I felt my control and time slipping away from me. It seemed the only decision to make at the time, and I never regretted it the moment it was made. I was more afraid, more uncertain of what would have happened if she'd refused. I suppose I would have tried to browbeat Cuddy into making her do it, but the chances of that were slim. Screaming at your boss's boss that she was the cause of your dying, because she followed rules rather than let House biopsy the dead cop's brain, isn't exactly the setting in which to ask that kind of favor. Sighing, I turned over in the uncomfortable hospital bed, facing the window through which I could see a late moon making its' way across the dark but clearing skies.

Everything had happened for a reason, it seemed. And even though I wasn't in pain or suffering from the effects of the parasite anymore, I was a different person now than I was before. Earlier tonight, I'd been soundly sleeping when the room was shaken by a loud thunderclap and a heavy sheet of rain slammed against the window, jerking me awake and in a state of … I don't know, exactly. Call it … unsettled confusion. Looking around the dark room while blinking the sleep from my eyes, the first thing I did was search for her. I wanted her to be there, in that chair by my bed.

At the same time, I hated feeling that dependent on someone.

I wasn't thinking straight. So … I called her.

I called her cell after glancing at the clock on the far wall of the room, thinking that it couldn't have been all that long before she'd left to go home, and should have been there by now. Alison lived closer to the hospital than any of us; which was one of the reasons she usually made it in early enough to be the first to make the coffee. Good thing, too, because the rest of our team—myself included—couldn't make good coffee to save our lives. We finally settled on making sure one of us, including House, kept the coffee stocked and the pot cleaned, so she wouldn't have to worry about that, at least.

Why am I thinking about this right now?

Anyway … I think I'm going to get a lot of questions in the morning from her, as a result of my leaving a not-so-coherent message on her cell phone. I know that I babbled, hoping that I said something about her getting home OK, at least. Alison constantly despaired about the social abilities (or lack thereof) of her teammates, especially House. I like to think I was the one she worried about least of all. But, hey—I'm a guy, working daily on a team led by a misanthrope-- and having only one female member.

Drifting again, Eric, I told myself—focus!

I think I remembered teasing her about her choice of bubble bath aromas. No one knows this, but I enjoy every scent she uses. You can always tell when Alison's been in a room. She carries fresh, pleasant air with her wherever she goes. And it's especially pleasant when I happen to be sitting next to her in the office, the lab, at lunch, or wherever.

I just thought of something. Oh, man …

I probably scared her, leaving a message from the hospital's phone lines on her cell. She would naturally think something's wrong, and probably check her pager, too. Well, I didn't page her, so hopefully she's not on her way back in to check on things. Me, I mean.

God, what a dumb ass I am. If she shows up, having driven back to this place in a storm … I'm going to feel so bad. I press the call button for the night nurse. She's at my room within a minute.

"Dr Foreman, do you need something? I thought you'd finally drifted off after Dr. Cameron left," she asks. Sheepishly, I shake my head.

"No, nurse, I'm fine, thanks. Just woke up again during that last thunderclap." She smiled understandingly, moving closer to my bed so that she could check the readouts from the monitors. She has repeating monitors at her station, but a good nurse would know that things can change in a patient's condition in seconds. I suspected that she was even more attentive tonight, on instructions from Alison.

"Well, the storm's passed. You should try to get some sleep. Do you want something to help—Dr. Cameron authorized it, if you requested something …" I shook my head. Alison and I had agreed--more from my insistence than hers—that I would be weaned off all medicines as soon as my system could stand it. We—I mean, I—needed to get back to a state where I could really evaluate the residual effects the biopsy did on my brain and neurological functions. Alison understood that - without me even verbalizing it, even though she never mentioned it. She just seemed to easily understand that part of my personality. Once more, I felt deep shame at the way I'd treated her on the article. Shaking off those thoughts, I returned my attention to the nurse.

"No, thanks. I was just wondering—has she called in since she left earlier?"

"Nope … haven't heard from her at all. Do you need me to bring her back in?" Again, I shook my head.

"No, that's not necessary." I gave her a small grin. "You know how 'overprotective' she's been; I was just worried she'd come back in." That sounded lame, even to me.

"As far as we know, she's not coming back until her shift starts at 8AM."

The nurse smiled again … a knowing smile on her lips, and chuckled to herself. She and the other nurses had a lot of professional respect for House and his diagnostics team, but Cameron and Foreman didn't know that _they_ were the nurses' favorite team members. They never asked anything of the nurses they weren't willing to do themselves, and they always treated the nurses with respect; _especially _when House was doing clinic hours, which placed a lot of strain on the nurses who were assigned to the clinic. Drs. Cameron and Foreman (and even Dr. Chase, to a lesser degree) seemed to realize that, and tried to compensate for House's misanthropic ways whenever they could. Every one of the nursing staff was distressed at the news that Foreman had contracted a life-threatening disease, and something generally unknown—except to Cuddy and Wilson—was that _every_ nurse whose blood type was compatible with Foreman's had volunteered to give blood if needed. That was one of the most interesting letters Cuddy'd ever received from the nursing supervisor, but she decided to keep it to herself (except for Wilson, who wasn't surprised in the least) unless needed.

The nurse seemed to be thinking about something else, but then shook herself and continued. "We _all _want you to get better, Dr. Foreman, not just her. You were very sick, and we were all pretty worried about you. But, we prayed for you, knowing Dr. Cameron and Dr. House would figure it out eventually." I gave her a grin, a little surprised at the emotion in her voice. Sometimes the doctors here forgot just how good and dedicated the nursing staff was at PPTH; and dealing with the Diagnostics Department was no walk on the beach.

"I really appreciate that, a lot. Sorry I bothered you. Guess I'll try to get back to sleep now."

"Good idea. I'll leave you to it, then—if you're sure I can't get you anything?"

"No, I'm good. See you in the morning." I settled back under my covers and stretched out. The nurse nodded, turned, and silently padded back to the almost—silent sliding door. She whispered, "Good night, Dr. Foreman," before leaving my room.

The small, muted sounds of the hospital filtered through my senses as I slowly woke the next morning. The window brought streams of cloudless sunlight into the room, and I slowly stretched under the warm blanket on the bed. Keeping my eyes closed for a few more moments, I slowly became aware of a weight next to me on the bed, and then warm, small fingers checking my wrist for my pulse, and a soft palm resting on my forearm. There wasn't much of any other movement, telling me that the person sitting next to me was trying to keep from waking me. Then, my nostrils filled with the aroma of French vanilla, confirming who the person was.

"You know," I softly whispered, "there are regulations against doctors sexually harassing their patients." I heard a small gasp when I started speaking, and then a chuckle … followed by a small squeeze of the hand on my arm.

"Oh, can't we waive them, just this once? It's hard to resist a cute guy _supposedly _sleeping in front of you," Alison whispered back, her voice full of teasing mirth. I opened my eyes, smiling up at her, getting one in return, as bright as the early days' light now streaming through the window of my room.

"'Cute', huh?" I asked her, my eyebrows wiggling suggestively. She shook her head … feigning long-suffering annoyance with her patient, while returning my grin with one of her own. Her auburn hair was looser today; she'd styled it this morning in soft waves that set off her face and cheeks; she wore a dark blue suit vest over an orange blouse, matched by a dark blue skirt under her hospital coat, and heels. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me as I began to shake off the last vestiges of sleep.

"Don't let it go to your head, Foreman," she groused with the remaining glint of humor in her blue-grey eyes. "How did you sleep last night?" For some reason, the sound of my last name coming from her sounded unnatural just then. I wanted to know if that meant she'd decided on some distance between us; or if there was another reason.

"Hey-what about using our first names, huh?" I tried to keep the banter going a little more, before we got to the subject of my silly phone call to her.

"Okay—don't let it go to your head, _Eric; _how's that--better?" I gave her a smirk, playfully shoving her a little, and she lost her balance a little, suddenly holding onto my arm a little tighter to avoid sliding off the bed. I immediately grabbed her hand with my other one to keep her in place--I certainly didn't want to see anything happen to her. "Hey--watch it! I almost ended up on the floor!" she complained, the small grin still on her face. Even though she was all right and evidently in a forgiving mood, I cringed anyway at what might have happened. "Sorry, Alison … I didn't realize how close you were to the edge---" I started to apologize; but she shook her head, the waves in her hair floating away. "It's OK, Eric—just kidding. I know you didn't mean it, and thanks for holding onto me." We locked eyes then, just looking at each other for some moments … until I finally looked away, determined to apologize for calling her late last night. "Listen, Alison, about that call last night; I, um, was a little freaked out, and I just…" I began, shaking my head a little, but she stopped me--holding up her free hand.

"Hey, I know. Really. I heard it in your voice, and I was this close (she held two fingertips close together, almost touching) to calling you back, but I figured you would have just tried to blow it all off. And I didn't want you to; I wanted us to talk about it, like friends. So, I waited till now—which was_ very_ hard for me, let me tell you. So; do you feel like talking about it?" She was absolutely right; if she'd called back last night, or had come back to the hospital, I would have been way too embarrassed to talk to her about anything. I looked away from her curious, caring gaze, towards the sliding door of the room. Her acute hearing probably told her that there was no one there to interrupt us, and looked as if she thought I was trying to think of another distraction for her to fend off. She sat there, waiting patiently as I cleared my throat, sounding (and feeling) very much like a schoolboy who's been caught doing something he shouldn't have. Her fingers on my arm started moving across my skin in a small, circular motion, and the sensation was … relaxing. I sighed, closing my eyes for a second, before opening them again to look in hers before diving in.

"I was worried about you driving home last night during the storm, and I'm sorry I didn't say that to you before you left. And—well … I missed you being here, that's all." I glanced at the corner of the room at that point; just couldn't seem to look at her; coward that I am. I didn't know what these things I was feeling really meant, and I knew she wouldn't, either.

The room was silent for a few moments as we both were lost in thought. After a few long heartbeats, she gave a little sigh—one of her signs that she was ready to speak. Even though I was paying close attention, I still couldn't meet her eyes.

"Eric … look at me," she spoke in that clear, easy-sounding voice of hers. "Please?" I looked at her face, and was surprised to see care, concern, and … something else in her blue-grey eyes that I couldn't quite decipher. It suddenly occurred to me, though, that we were still holding hands, and that she hadn't detached hers from mine. Then she started talking again, in a low, clear voice.

"Thanks for worrying about me, and missing me—it feels good to be missed by a friend." She smiled while saying that last part, and I quickly returned it. "I almost didn't leave last night; my plan was to go on back downstairs to our offices, wait until you'd fallen asleep, and then come back here and sit in my chair, so that I could watch over you." My eyes widened; the depth and feeling behind her words, along with what I was seeing in her eyes, shocked me. I couldn't say anything in reply.

"But I knew that you would be upset with me for passing on rest and hanging around here when I really didn't have to. But, Eric; I _wanted_ to. That's the thing. And, I'm not quite sure of all the reasons why. There's something going on here, between us; I really don't know what it is. So, maybe it's me who's 'freaking out.'" She drew a deep breath, glancing down towards the floor. I saw a shadow fall over her pale face before she started talking again. "When you were really sick, and nothing we did helped--I got really frightened, Eric. I wasn't sure if we could save you in time." She paused, swallowed a couple of times, then continued. "Your dad … spent a lot of time in the chapel, and whenever I found him there to give him updates, I was uncomfortable being there – in a chapel – for the first time in my life. I couldn't seem to find the faith that your dad so obviously had for your recovery. And … I wasn't ready to say goodbye to someone else that I cared for. So, I've been staying here most of these last few nights, not really wanting to go home, because _you_ couldn't go home. Plus, I discovered that being around you helped me rediscover a little faith again. And, I also didn't want you to feel alone, like you did when you were really sick." I started to talk, but she squeezed my hand to stop me. "I _know_ you felt all alone, Eric; I saw it in your eyes when you stuck me with that tainted needle; and again, when we were talking about the medical proxy. You didn't think that you were going to make it. And, to be honest, at the time I wasn't so sure, myself." Her face held a bleak look that reminded me of the looks on my friends' faces whenever we passed a particularly scary house in our neighborhood during Halloween; as though she'd looked through a mirror into some haunted landscape, almost losing herself in the things she saw there. It was at that moment that I started to feel some of the emotional costs she paid during my illness; some, she paid willingly, and others … she fought just as strongly. She broke our locked gaze, then, and let go of the breath she'd been holding. She started to turn away, but before she did, I saw the moisture in her eyes. Her hand never left mine, though, and I could feel the emotional turmoil she was experiencing through our touch. How I knew so easily what she felt was a mystery to me; this was a connection to her that I'd never felt before.

I looked down, then; and watched my large, dark, calloused fingers intertwine with her small, dainty, yet strong ones. When had I slipped my fingers around hers? When did she? I couldn't remember. I knew she was feeling vulnerable, though, even though the ever-presence of her inner strength; the strength I saw every time she argued with House or one of the rest of us when offering her ideas on diagnoses, or just defending herself. I _knew_ that strength; I'd seen her use it to assert control over emotional patients with one hand, one touch … while giving them injections with the other. It was just something you learned to do as a doctor. Being strong when you needed to be. So I laid there and watched the Alison I admired … and liked … be strong as she spoke again.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this right now; I don't even know if you've been feeling any of the same things I have. I just want to tell you that I thought your call last night was very sweet, and it made me feel cared for, in a way I haven't for a long time. And if I'm not the only one in this room 'freaking out', then maybe after you go home and recover … well, maybe we could spend some time together, and just see what happens. If you want to, that is."

I watched her for a few seconds, her face still turned away, unable to meet my eyes … waiting for me to answer. I was amazed at her courage, and had no idea … I thought that maybe we were getting closer because of the emotions surrounding everything we'd gone through; and not for any real, long-lasting reasons. But, I was starting to think I could be wrong. _She'd _felt us drawing closer, as I had; and she wasn't shying away from it—whatever "it" was. Damn, she _was_ strong—even stronger than I'd given her credit for. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd just figured that she wouldn't, _couldn't_ seriously consider what had been already flitting through my own thoughts and feelings about us.

I mean, there were the obvious barriers, of course.

Barriers she evidently wasn't especially concerned with.

To be honest, I could say that I wanted the same things she did because, as a man, I didn't want to appear to be less strong than she was being right at this moment; boldly facing the possibilities between us … and being willing to explore them.

But that wouldn't be true.

My parents taught me that being a man wasn't always about strength, or power, or any one of a dozen other things. I saw it in their relationship, as they effortlessly shared and traded strength, power, and support depending on what the right thing was, and who needed it the most at the time. I never quite forgot that, even as I entered the cutthroat world of medicine, with its' 'winner take all' attitudes about so many things.

Watching Alison made me think that maybe the Eric Foreman who had gone a little too far down that particular path in my drive to be a great doctor … was the same person who did what I did to her with the article.

Listening to her share her heart, though, made me determined to stay well away from _that_ Foreman, and try to be a person worthy of her.

Even laying in the bed as I was, my shoulders straightened as I felt the determination of my decision fill my voice.

"Alison."

She slowly lifted her head, her eyes slowly seeking and latching onto mine … as silent tears flowed down her cheeks. I reached up and gently brushed them away … carefully watching her face as she slowly closed her eyes when my fingers touched her face.

"You're not the only one; I've been experiencing the same feelings. I've just been too afraid to think much about them."

Her voice, when she answered, was filled with a mixture of relief and curiosity. "Why?" she asked in a whisper … her eyes still closed.

Typical Alison, I thought to myself. Always amazed at the chances people too willingly throw away for happiness, since her core being always drives her to _look_ for it, to _find_ it, … and to keep it.

I gave her a wry grin.

"Because … I'm a guy. A _black _guy. Someone who's put a big part of my life away in a corner because I want to be a great doctor, not leaving much room for anything--or anyone--else." Her eyes finally opened again, and she studied my face. "And someone who's heard the refrains of 'birds of a feather should flock together' over and over again, just like everyone else."

She sniffled, and I reached for the tissue box on the side table, pulling a few out for her. She took them, carefully wiping the spaces around her eyes in order to keep from smearing what little makeup she wore, and smiled her gratitude. I waited until she'd finished, and to see what she'd say in reply to what I'd just said.

"What does being black have to do with it?" Her question made me chuckle, and she narrowed her eyes, apparently thinking I was going to launch into some "It's a black thing—you wouldn't understand" spiel. I shook my head, stifling the rest of my laugh, and placed a serious look on my face.

"Men--black men in particular--are so messed up when it comes to relationships. Half the time, we don't know whether we're coming or going. All you have to do is look at House, Wilson, Chase, and me to see that. But being black just adds to it. We stew in so much victimology as a culture that it keeps us from making real connections with healthy people we come across – of _any_ race. We usually end up with people a lot like ourselves; and when you add two 'victims' together, no good ever comes of it. My parents were the exception; they were always strong, independent, well-grounded people independently … but when they're together, they are formidable!" He felt the smile appear on his face, and then slowly fade away as he remembered his mother's worsening condition. He hadn't told Alison about that, but it could wait for another time.

She slowly nodded, seeming to understand, at least a little, of what I was trying to say to her.

"I liked your dad a lot; I could see so much of both of you in each other. And I think I understand what you're saying. But, Eric, I don't really see that … victimology … in you, in quite the same way I might see it in House, Wilson, or Chase." I gave her a grin; my father can be an intimidating man, and very few people weren't immediately cowed in his presence when first meeting him. Alison _was_ one of those few, apparently; which made me happy. It was, I thought, a good sign for the future.

Especially since my dad had told me, before he left to go back home, that _he_ had been very impressed with _her_; even though he'd been miffed with her at being selected as my proxy, instead of him. My dad and I had a long talk about that, most of it me telling him enough about Alison – things he may not have seen for himself – that seemed to finally convince him why I decided the way I did.

And I was also glad she apparently thought I was more "evolved" than the others. I still had my doubts, knowing myself as I did … but I wouldn't try to talk her out of her belief. Instead, I just decided to answer her last reply.

"He liked you, too; even though he's still dealing with my proxy decision. He'll be alright, though; he understands why I did what I did. And -- thanks. I _think_ you just complimented me?"

She laughed.

"Yes, I did. No one who fights House like you do could ever be called a 'victim', Eric. You always defend yourself, and I've always liked that about you."

"Funny," I told her, "I always liked that about you, too." She actually blushed, then sighed.

"So, what happens now? I mean, now that we've both admitted that we – gasp – like things about the other!" We both laughed, and then I started coughing a little … one of the anti-parasitic drugs she'd given me kept my throat pretty dry, and I was grateful when she reached for the water pitcher and a glass, filling it and handing it to me. I drank about half, and then started to put the glass back on the side table – but she took it from my hand, and put it there herself. I rolled my eyes, which was answered with a wink that put another grin on my face.

"Well, first of all … I would like to take you up on the 'spending time together' idea you mentioned. Least I can do for the woman who saved me; and anyway, I _do_ have a lot of football knowledge to impart to a _novice_ … oww!"

She'd slapped my shoulder, mock-glaring at me, and I rubbed it slowly … faking a look of pain on my face. "What was that for?"

"I'll 'novice' you, you …" she gibed … giggling.

"Hey – now _that_ sounds like a plan!" I told her – ducking as far away from her in the bed as I could, holding up both hands to protect myself.

"I was _actually_ thinking about things like meals, movies … you know, 'date' stuff. _But_, if you're not up to it …" she said, her voice drifting away in challenge. I loved it when she teased me; and apparently, she enjoyed it, too.

"Oh, I'm up for that, definitely – assuming, of course, that my doctor even lets me out of the hospital I'm currently trapped in."

She threw up her hands in a pretend-exasperated manner.

"Here we go again, the tough guy whining about the big, bad hospital. Sheesh! Well, I have to meet with Cuddy later this morning to go over your case – do you feel like a review visit from her, if I can swing it?"

"God, yes – I'd take a visit from Xena herself if it gets me out of here and home. Speaking of home –" I started, but Alison seemed to read my mind.

"Well, Xena's out of the question, but Cuddy shouldn't be a problem. And, if you want, I can go by your place between lunch and clinic this afternoon, and pick up anything you need. I still have your keys and stuff in my desk drawer upstairs." There was another sign of things changing; normally, I would be paranoid about someone else, even a co-worker, having my wallet and apartment keys. Not Alison. I trusted her implicitly, and I knew I had nothing to worry about regarding my things.

"Cool! Thanks so much! Let's see … my MP3 player and headphones from my bedside table, a couple of neurology books from the shelves in my den--and can you get me the latest American Neurophysiology Review from the hospital library, too?" Her eyes grew wider as I recited my list.

She laughed. "I thought you wanted to get out of here – it sounds like you're planning on moving in!"

I shook my head. "You don't understand, Alison. It gets _so_ boring here between the tests, meals, and teasing my favorite doctor! I need to keep my mind occupied, since you guys won't let me in on any of the cases we're handling right now."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean, 'the cases _you're_ handling'? Eric, you _know_ you can't practice medicine when you're a patient—especially after a brain biopsy!"

"I know, I know," I told her. "I'm still going stir-crazy, though. Can't you help a brother out?" That last was given with my lower lip stuck way out, which got me a giggle for a reward.

"All right, all right … I'll do what I can. Listen – I've got to get upstairs, before House-–" At that, her pager went off, and she pulled it off her belt with a sigh, glancing at the display. "Speak of the devil—"she groaned, looking like she didn't want to leave. I knew how she felt; I didn't especially want her to leave just yet, either. But, I couldn't keep her away from her work any longer. PPTH was a busy hospital. I gave her an airy wave with my hand, and a smile.

"Go, go … it's time for my unremarkable-but-nourishing breakfast, right before my routine visit with Dr. Lyons -- our resident _second-best_ neurologist -- who will test me on things I've _already_ tested myself on, and tell me things I _already_ know—" I guess my frustration was starting to boil over a little, because Alison reached down just then, and placed two fingers on my lips to quiet me.

"Eric-–please. You know that this is all for your good, right? And you also realize that Lyons reports directly to Cuddy? You've just got to be a little more patient, ok? I promise, I'll get you home as soon as soon as it's the right time to send you home, and as soon as I can--capisce?" She watched me, worry seeping back into her voice, as she slowly took her fingers away from my mouth. I looked down at them, and then back up at her. We met each other's gaze, as I thought about her words-–_and_ the deliberate order she'd used for some of them.

She wasn't going to agree to _anything_ that might release me before _she_ felt ready to let me go home to recover; that took precedence over everything else. There was Lyons, House, and Cuddy to contend with; but she was still my primary care physician, and my medical proxy. _Her_ word was final … one that not even House could overrule, and she was letting me know in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't let me hurt myself by badgering her into releasing me too early.

I looked deeply into her eyes before answering. I wanted her to see how sincere I was.

"I'm sorry, Alison. You're right, and I hear you-I really do. I didn't mean to freak out. I promise to behave from now on. Guess they're right when they say doctors make the worst patients, huh?" She smiled then, a slow, world-brightening smile that took my breath away. Wow. How does she _do_ that, anyway? As amazing as that smile was, though, there was one more thing I wanted to ask her before she left to start her day.

"Want to have lunch with me?"

If it was possible, her smile grew even brighter.

"I'd love to." Then what happened next told me that things were forever different. She leaned down and kissed me on my cheek, holding the other side of my face with her palm for a few heartbeats, and then got up from her spot next to me on my bed to turn and slowly head towards the sliding door. I held my breath through it all…the feeling of her lips on my skin, and her palm caressing the other side of my face. Outside, I could see that the nurses were slowly working their way down the hallway with their food carts, and when Alison opened the door to my room, I could smell the aromas from the bland hospital food on the trays.

Watching her, I whispered, "See ya…," the spot on my face where she kissed me still tingling. She paused for a moment, turned to look back at me with a warm, thoughtful look, then whispered back … just loud enough for me to hear over the clatter from the hallway,

"…later", completing the phrase. Turning away, she glided from my room…slowly walking down the hallway, as if she knew I was still watching her from my bed.

…which is exactly what I was doing.

Lunch couldn't come fast enough, I decided.


	4. Chapter 4

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 4 (Cameron)"**

…a "House, M.D." story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating:** PG

**Reviewers: **

To** "WuHaoNi": **Hello! I'm having a lot of fun presenting something you rarely see on the site, since everyone seems to think only House/Cameron relationships make any sense! I've also never tried to write a "split-perspective" story before, either, so it's been a challenge so far. I hope I'm doing the characters justice. Glad you like it!

To** "Suzy87":** Thank, you, thank you! So encouraging … you make it easier to keep writing and feeling my way through this unique relationship. A new episode is on tonight, so I'm hoping for more glimpses of inspiration on these two!

**CAMERON**

I should be locked away.

Really. Like - 'fill-her-with-Thorazine and throw-away-the-key' - locked away.

Either that, or I've somehow turned into Brooke Evans, the high school tramp my friends and I used to make so much fun of back then (even though we all secretly wanted to get at least some of the action she was getting!). You see, I've now officially kissed _every_ male member of the Diagnostics Department at PPTH. Heck, if Wilson ever decides to change specialties, I can always work _him_ in as well! Granted - Chase was a drug-induced episode (and we did a _whole_ lot more than kiss, I'm ashamed to say); and House is, well, House; the worst misanthrope (or as Foreman calls him, a 'manipulative bastard') of ALL time.

Foreman.

No, not 'Foreman'. _Eric._

Sigh.

It's wrong, I thought, as I head away from his room after our conversation – and after I'd just kissed him on the cheek, before leaving. It _was_ just a kiss on the cheek.

**_No_**, I sternly tell myself. It wasn't _just_ a kiss. How do I know? Because of how I feel right now. And because of how I felt immediately afterward.

Because … I wanted more.

I **wanted** to kiss him on his lips. I wanted to feel him kiss me back. I _know_ he wanted to, as well; I saw it in his eyes as my lips left his cheek. He was stunned, yeah – so was I, because that kiss wasn't something I'd planned, or something I consciously decided to do. I just did it. Because it _felt_ right.

Sounds simple enough - but as I've painfully learned in my life and in my choices about men … my heart doesn't _do _'simple.'

I'm conflicted and … flustered, after what's just happened. Mostly because, in a lot of ways, I'm not really sure _what_ just happened. Eric and I just had a very deep and emotional conversation, and we both revealed a lot of ourselves during it; me, especially. We've somehow discovered a new bond growing between us over the past few days, replacing the colleague/friend?/acquaintance thing we had before. We'd just admitted it to each other; even though, for most of the time I've known him, Eric has been almost as reticent about sharing his emotions as House. Still …

I remembered how he reacted when that poor woman was brought into the hospital a few months back; a druggie/dealer, as Eric had immediately decided she was; even before taking the time and effort to properly diagnose her. I'd never seen him do that before; Eric had always been consistent in keeping an open mind about his patients, and not rushing into premature judgments about either the people who came in through the doors of our department, or the diagnoses and treatments given them. It was funny, but I always felt that that was a quality he and I shared as doctors; more than either House or Chase; who generally made diagnoses based on the puzzles they provided (in House's case); or usually as a reaction to whatever the rest of us determined, in Chase's case.

I think that's a big reason why Eric and Chase aren't closer; to Eric, Chase just doesn't seem to take medicine seriously enough.

Just as Eric didn't take that woman's obvious and real medical problems seriously enough … until it was almost too late. And when he, House, and Wilson had finally discovered the emotional triggers behind her ailments; along with her blaming herself for the tragic deaths of her husband and child … his compassion came to the fore. I remembered the look on his face when we'd all entered her room to find she'd somehow snuck out of the hospital … her amazing drawings scrawled on the wall; some of Eric himself as he'd tried to treat her. He'd evidently had had as much effect on her as she'd had on him, when all was said and done. Especially considering how much they'd seemed to dislike each other at the beginning.

I saw then, in Eric, something I'd seen glimpses of before; his true heart and compassion. Those drawings, and that woman's terrible life, affected him in a powerful, deep way. I watched as he'd rushed from the hospital with Wilson in tow … trying to find her and bring her back to the clinic for treatment … House's sarcasm and recriminations ringing in his ears. And it wasn't, I was sure, simply because he'd felt guilty for the way he'd essentially blown her off before … although that was a part of it. It was, I think, because _he'd_ been misjudged like that before in his life; and he was appalled at the easy way he'd carelessly done the same thing to another person. I never asked him about it, but I was certain that was a part of the reasons for his, to the others, 'atypical' reactions. It was there, in his eyes, in the look on his face, during that case. I should have gone to him and tried to get him to talk about it afterward. I knew from personal experience how much an experience like that could darken a soul.

But, I didn't.

Partly because, not too long afterward, he and I had decided to start working on a joint article for our fellowships; and during that busy time … and the events that took place afterward … I'd decided that he was the very last person on earth I wanted to have anything to do with.

And then, the cop who'd been shot came to the hospital - and everything changed.

I headed back to the Diagnostics offices, my composure bruised and uncertain. The people I passed in the halls; nurses, doctors, other staffers … and patients … all gave me a wide berth as I walked by, seemingly sensing the emotional clouds around me. Focusing on the sounds my heels made as I walked along, I hardly noticed anything happening around me, until a hand touched my elbow. I stopped suddenly, and the person who'd touched me almost stumbled into me before catching himself. Someone with a walking cane.

House.

Oh, just great. I sighed out loud, which didn't seem to register with him at all. It never did; House simply ignored nonverbal signals he wasn't interested in. Didn't mean he didn't pick up on them; House was probably the most observant person I'd ever met.

The question with him, as always, was whether he was even slightly interested in what his enhanced senses and well-tuned intuitions were telling him.

"We've got problems, Dr. Cameron," he grumbled; automatically scanning and, I'm sure, cataloguing and discerning all of the indicators of mine that he was so infuriatingly good at deciphering. As usual, his opening comment almost never connected logically to whatever else he ended up saying, except to himself. So, I just waited, an eyebrow raised in question. I'd learned very early in my dealings with him that you had to try to put him off his game of disruption by keeping quiet until he'd gotten around to telling you what he actually wanted to say – assuming, of course, that it was the truth to begin with.

It occurred to me that he could very well have been watching Eric and I through the glass of the hospital room; notions of privacy were foreign to him … like when he read my AIDS test results without my permission or knowledge. He could be talking about something he … saw. I narrowed my eyes at him; sending waves of displeasure in anticipation of what I was sure would be an intrusive, abusive flow of words about Eric and me. I steeled myself for what was to come, squaring my shoulders as I turned to face him in the hallway.

"We're out of coffee in Diagnostics, and I had to shanghai Wilson into a trip to the local coffeehouse in order to get properly started with my day. _Why_ are we out of coffee, Dr. Cameron – and why is my inbox still filled with trite, uninteresting messages from trite, uninteresting people?" he asked – all serious. I gaped at him.

Sometimes, his insensitivity (of course, he never saw it that way) astounded me. I took a breath, shook my head once, and then gathered my wits to answer his tone with one just as icy.

"No. 1, House – I'm a doctor, not a barista. If you want coffee - go and get it yourself. _ I_ don't have to be a part of that process in order for it to take place. You obviously got coffee in your drugged-up system long before I came along, and will no doubt be able to get it long after I'm gone. No. 2 – and, follow along with me _very_ carefully here, House – on my degree, it says, 'Dr.', not 'secretary'. Every once in a while, go through your own damn email!" I stormed away from him, then, too steamed to be anywhere close to him at that point.

I was several feet away when I finally heard his sneering cutback: "Wow … bro's got his _thang_ wound up real tight!"

I stopped in my tracks, my muscles having lost all connection to my desire to be out of his presence, and I just stood there - seeing nothing but pure red. I was sure I could feel the steam rising from my ears. Through the rush of blood and roaring sounds in my ears, I heard an angry, strident **_"House!" _**Cuddy had somehow appeared, and must have heard at least the last part of our confrontation. I slowly turned around, glaring in hurricane-like fury at House … who was wearing a pleased look at the reaction he'd managed to get from me. Cuddy strode up to him; and then, glancing for a moment at me; actually moved between us. I guess she was afraid I would be flying for his throat at any moment. Just then, I noticed Wilson quietly watching from a few yards away, and saw him slowly edge towards House after taking in the look on my face, looking as if he intended to get his friend away from the impending car crash of a situation he'd caused.

Cuddy turned her back on me, after sensing that I wasn't ready to pounce just yet, and faced House. I just stayed rooted in my spot on the hallway floor, meeting his placid, mocking gaze with my anger.

"House, you will leave right now and go to your office, or I will place you on extended clinic duty for the next month!" All this time, House's eyes never left mine, and he seemed to barely register Cuddy's presence.

"Did you _hear_ me, Dr. House?" Cuddy practically screamed up at him from less than a foot away, hands on her hips in anger. He finally broke his gaze with me to glance down at her.

"Kinda hard not to, Cuddy, with you screeching in my ear. My **subordinate** was being _disrespectful—_"

"Don't even _start_ with that, House," she told him. "I heard enough to know what was said, and you had no call to reply the way you did! Now, start moving, because if I'm still seeing you in this hallway 30 seconds from now, it's nothing but boring sick people for you during the next month! Now, **go!**" House had met my glower again, and finally broke eye contact with me to glare down at Cuddy, mixing it with a lecherous grin.

"Didn't you say the same thing last night in bed, Dr. Cuddy?" Before she could splutter a word in reply, he turned away, limping toward the elevators. Wilson started moving in the same direction - apparently intending to escort him back to our office. "I don't need an escort, Jimmy!" House ground out to his friend. Wilson didn't back down from House's dangerous tone.

"Too bad, Greg, because you're getting one anyway. Come on, let's go. The coffee I went to a lot of trouble to get you is getting cold downstairs." They reached the elevator doors, and as the car arrived, House called out to me. "I expect those emails to be dealt with by noon today, Cameron."

And then he was finally gone. I stood there, shaking … my eyes closed, as I expended all of my energy in not going after my boss in a murderous rage.

That had to have been the worst thing he'd ever said to me. Worse than the time he told me that he didn't like me.

Because this time, he wasn't just talking about me … but Eric, too.

And I found that harder to take, to deal with … than if he was just going after me alone.

I knew Cuddy was still there, watching me with concern. I could feel her dark eyes on me, and then I sensed her approach. I immediately started to back away, raising my hands between us. In a clipped tone, I told her, "I'm all right, Dr. Cuddy. I just need a few minutes – I'm going for a walk around the complex to clear my head. I'm on pager if anything happens." She nodded, and then surprised me by asking, "Mind if I join you? Maybe we can keep each other out of the county jail under murder charges if we stick together." I snorted, still too furious to do much more except to nod once, as we turned towards the elevators, rode downstairs, and made our way outside through the clinic doors on the ground level.

"Oh, Dr. Cuddy," one of the desk nurses called out to her as we passed the main intake counter, our heels clicking on the tiled floor in close cadence. My walking companion put a stop to any further conversation, calling out in a commanding voice while not missing a step by my side. "Whatever it is, it can wait. I'm going to be gone for a little while; page Dr. Wilson for anything medical while I'm out – hang onto anything else till I get back. Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am …" the nurse replied in a puzzled voice. She saw the pinched looks on both our faces as we passed, and I was sure that the gossip mill was about to swing into action. At that moment, I found my voice again. "You realize we just started about ten different rumors, don't you?" I asked in a small, wry voice; which got me a chuckle from the older woman.

"Wow – color me shocked! Maybe they'll be good ones this time, instead of the expected and quite boring 'Cuddy and Cameron are closet lesbians and lovers, and they headed out for a _liaison_' crap we both know is coming!"

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing at her blasé tone and indifferent manner at the prospect of any of her people thinking her (or me, for that matter) a lesbian. But I guess her comment had its' intended effect, because I was quickly leaving behind the fog of rage I'd been in since running into House in the hallway. We quickly passed through the sliding doors of the clinic and stepped out onto the concrete paths that connected the buildings of PPTH, heading by silent agreement towards the well-kept and still lush rolling hills and lawns; everything smelling fresh and new after the night's rains. We slowed our pace a little, and both Cuddy and I breathed in the recharging scents of living, growing things. It was several moments before either of us spoke.

"So … how's Foreman doing?" she asked me in as neutral of a voice as she could manage – which immediately told me there were several layers to her question. I glanced over at her, but she'd decided not to meet my eyes; watching the tips of her pumps instead. That was my second clue; when Lisa Cuddy didn't look you in the eye when she was talking to you - be wary.

"He's fine," I managed to answer in a voice that sounded almost like my own. "Still making noises about being released, of course. Doesn't seem to be too concerned with the less-than-stellar marks he's getting from Neurology, and I know he's itching to get out of that room. I think he's done about enough healing here as he'll let himself have; I was going to talk to you today about considering his release – to go home, of course. He's still quite a ways from being able to return to work." She nodded, listening carefully as I talked.

"Well, you agree with the rest of us – Neurology, Wilson, House and I – that he's not ready to return to work, at least. I was expecting you to push more for his reinstatement to practice, at least part-time." We were still walking at a good clip, and I decided to slow the pace. I glanced at Cuddy before answering. "I may not be a neurologist, but I'm a good enough doctor to know that he still has cognitive issues, Lisa – even if _he_ doesn't sometimes. I understand what he's going through … he's wondering if he'll regain total functions … get well enough to keep being a doctor. The fact that I understand that doesn't mean I'd risk him or anyone he tries to treat until we know for sure, one way or another." I knew that my tone of voice wasn't the most respectful, but I was getting very tired of people second-guessing me on Eric's case. If they still had problems with me being his proxy and primary physician, well – tough. And that included the Dean of Medicine who walked beside me; though I didn't say _that_ part out loud, somehow I thought she got the message anyway. Cuddy just gave a small nod, as if what I'd just said confirmed something for her.

"Alison, I hope you didn't take anything I said as a criticism of you or your abilities. You know how I feel about you; both as a doctor, and as a friend. And for the record, I think Foreman made the perfect decision on who his proxy should be." That drew me up short; pausing on the path we were presently on … both of us holding our hands in the pockets of our lab coats as a guard against the slight nip in the morning air, I turned to face her.

"You do?"

"Yes, I do," she answered; a smile on her face. "I wasn't really surprised when you brought me the proxy document to my office for my review; considering how things had been between you and Foreman over the article, and the way I _know_ he holds you in high regard - despite what he might say sometimes - I guessed that that was what he'd decide to do about his treatment. What I wasn't sure about was how his father would play into it; but, I was positive that, out of all of his choices from the hospital staff, he'd pick you."

I was floored. Apparently, she'd seen things from a small distance that I'd totally missed up close. Guess that's one reason she's Dean of Medicine. "Why?" I whispered. Hearing this from her was unexpected, to say the least.

She cleared her throat, and then took a deep breath before answering.

"Well, like I said, he thinks highly of you as a doctor; and even though you were ready and willing to strangle him over the article, you put all that aside to treat him. I wouldn't have expected any less from you, and neither did he. What did he tell you when _you_ asked _him_ why?" My mouth hung open; how had she known about that? She shook her head in amusement at the look on my face. "Are you surprised, Alison? I _know_ my people – it's a part of my job. And I saw the residual puzzlement in your eyes when you came to my office with the paper – right before you lit into me for not allowing House to autopsy the cop's body. You were still wondering a little about his decision, even at that point; even knowing you'd carry out his wishes, come hell or high water."

I thought back to the scene in her office. "You're right. I _was_ still trying to figure out why he picked me of all people; especially with his dad there. But, I decided when House tried to wrest authority over Eric's care away from me that it really didn't matter at that point. What I knew I had to focus on was helping Er—Foreman." Cuddy chuckled at my sudden change in using Eric's last name, and I raised an eyebrow at her in question.

She folded her arms across her chest as she walked, her face taking on a thoughtful look as she studied me. "You've been spending a lot of time, a lot of off-hours, with him. Especially the first couple of days after he was released from ICU; you hardly went home at all, sleeping in one of those horribly uncomfortable guest chairs we put near patients' beds. And, since I haven't heard about any knockdown/drag-out fights, I'm assuming that things have … changed … between you two?" Her question was genuine, I could tell; she was curious about the change in my relationship with Eric, and was looking for the skinny from the 'horse's mouth', as it were. Normally, with anyone else at the hospital (except maybe Wilson), I would have played things close to my chest; but I knew that Cuddy, even though she disdained the 'gossip mill' at her hospital, never let that disdain keep her from taking advantage of it whenever she needed to. And, she was a friend as well as a mentor to me. Being the sole woman in Diagnostics, as well as she being the (female) boss of the entire hospital, gave both of us unique perspectives in our jobs … and usually made us natural comrades in the ebb and flow of mostly male-dominated medicine.

I surprised her by allowing the smile I seemed to get every time I thought about Eric now to appear on my face. Both of her eyebrows lifted, and I almost laughed out loud at the eager, inquisitive look she now carried.

"Yeah, I think so. We've been talking a lot, and it feels like we're getting to know each other again. It's like …" I paused, not quite knowing how to verbalize something I was still trying to figure out myself. "--we're seeing each other for the first time, and it's been … nice. We have more in common than either of us thought, and when I forgave him for the article—"; at that, Cuddy nodded, seemingly pleased, "I felt like I could really start over, and trust him again. Besides, when a guy who steals your article and breaks your trust turns around and puts his life in your hand - you're right – he told me that the main reason he chose me as his proxy was because the qualities in me that usually drove him nuts when treating other people were exactly what he wanted and needed for himself."

We'd both slowly started walking again; still following the paths between the buildings … which got me thinking about the path Eric and I were on. I paused, and looked back at the building he was in, counting the levels of windows until I reached his floor, wondering what he was thinking about at that moment. I felt Cuddy's eyes on me, and after giving a little sigh, I turned back to her and saw a tiny smile on her exotic face.

"That's good to hear, Alison. And not just on the level of keeping the peace between the warring factions in the kindergarten otherwise known as Diagnostics" - we both burst out laughing at her quip – "but knowing that things are OK between two people I think a lot of." She surprised me by taking my arm in hers, turning us back towards the buildings we usually worked in … keeping our speed very leisurely.

"Thanks, Lisa. I know that we can all be head cases sometimes, and real—"

"pains in the asses?" she supplied, her eyes dancing with humor. We giggled like two sorority sisters sharing a secret.

"sometimes, yeah." I continued, smiling. "Despite everything, we do our best, in spite of ourselves most of the time, I think. As for Eric and I, well … time will tell. The first thing is to get him back 100 - before House decides to give his fellowship to someone else." I couldn't hide the bitterness in my voice at that last comment.

"Don't worry about that, Alison. House _has_ mentioned his concerns about Foreman's recovery, but they seem to be more about this new, closer relationship between you and Foreman; rather than his chances for a full recovery. His behavior this morning just reinforces that, I think. Dumping on you is his way of showing displeasure at the current state of things, things he has no real control over. And as far as Foreman's job is concerned, House can't do anything about his fellowships without my agreement, and there's no way I'm going to let him jettison Foreman. What I do think we need to do is review the case again with your input, of course, and then probably let him go home to continue healing. I've been reviewing his tests and results, of course, and I agree with you; we've done pretty much all we can do with him here. Unless I hear different, or things change … I'll probably send him home tomorrow for a week, at least. What does concern me is monitoring him while he's recuperating; somehow, I think he'd fight having me assign a nurse to check in on him on a daily basis—"

"You're right," I told her, definitely liking where this conversation seemed to be going.

"--so I was wondering if you'd be willing to be responsible for his home care. I think he'd feel most comfortable with that arrangement, and it would mean that a real doctor was overseeing him; as opposed to someone who might miss signs of his condition while he recuperates. And frankly Alison, you could use a break from this place. This whole case has taxed you, and between losing a lot of sleep spending so much time here for Foreman,and having to deal with House … I'm concerned about you. If a case comes into Diagnostics, House can consult with you if he wants; but you stay with Foreman until and unless we really need you here. You certainly have enough personal time built up. What do you think?"

What did I think? I think it was the best thing I'd heard in weeks. She was right; I was tired, and needed a break. She was also right about Eric; he wouldn't want a nurse, and even though I felt he wouldn't have any objection to me watching over him, he'd feel better about it when he realized that it meant a vacation of sorts for me, as well. I knew he was worried about my well-being lately, and he would see this as an opportunity to get me to rest, too.

And I also got the strangest feeling that this also gave Cuddy a way to help this new relationship between Eric and me as much as she could, away from the stresses of the hospital. I got the impression that Cuddy approved of what might be happening with Eric and I, and I looked over at her as we returned to our building. She didn't meet my eyes; instead casting her glances everywhere around us except at me … and the feeling I was getting got stronger.

"You wouldn't happen to be having a 'personal' interest in all of this, Dr. Cuddy – maybe as a _wager_ between you and Wilson, perhaps?" I told her in a mock-chastising, humorous voice. Given her pleasure in engaging in games of chance, Cuddy could have been a riverboat gambler in another life. She stopped in mid-stride, placing a hand over her chest in a classic 'damsel is affronted' look. I faced her, crossing my own arms and tapping one foot on the ground … and an impish grin filled her face as she answered, her eyes sparkling with humor.

"Why, Dr. Cameron – what _must_ you think of me, to say something like that! Here I am, trying to do as my heart commands me do, and my motives are held up for suspicion! Oh, the _pain_ …" I rolled my eyes, shaking my head and laughing before taking her arm and pulling her along the path back towards the building drawing closer in front of us. She giggled, giving me a wink before I was finally able to answer her. "Oh, give it a rest, 'Scarlett', willya? I'm betting that you and Wilson will lay some serious money on all this – if you haven't already, that is."

We reached the doors of the clinic, and bustled through a small group of people coming in at the same time … our professional faces starting to reappear on our faces. One of the things that I liked about Cuddy was her willingness to help out in the clinic – which surprised some of our patients, when they found out that they were examined or treated by the _head administrator/doctor_, and not some intern. True to form, she headed towards the main desk and the pile of charts that were collecting there in the racks for the doctors on duty. I would have immediately pitched in, but I knew that I had to deal with House and his email sooner or later. The coffee issue, I'd leave him to figure out; since there was a very good chance I'd be away for a week, and both he and Chase would have to fend for themselves in that area. I couldn't help it; I could feel the anticipatory smile on my face when I told Eric what Lisa was planning, as well as getting some (I admit it) much-needed time away from this place. Cuddy waved me away, already starting to review the first chart in her hands and giving instructions to the nurses. "Go and get squared away upstairs, Cameron – and tell Chase I want his help down here right away. Once we get through this throng, I'll have a word with Neurology about scheduling a review of Foreman's condition, and then you, House, and I will meet afterward. Got it?" I smiled to myself; Cuddy assumed the mantle of 'commander' quite easily; and she was very good at it, too. I nodded, giving her a smile as I headed towards the elevators. "Yes, ma'am," I told her, using the same kind of voice the nurse at the desk had earlier. "Thanks for the walk, and everything."

"You're welcome. And, please - don't kill House. I reserve that particular joy for myself; and I _am_ the boss, after all."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Cuddy," I answered her over my shoulder. When the elevator arrived and I entered, pressing the button for the floor our offices were on, I heard Cuddy tell the nurse in a put-upon voice as the elevator doors closed …

"See – all you have to do is walk the pets every once in a while, and they get all respectful-like!"

Both the nurse and I were laughing before the doors finally closed.

The rest of the morning was spent in front of House's computer, once I'd returned to the office and basically glared him out of his chair, refusing to engage in any of his cutting banter … until he finally left – probably to hassle Wilson, or have an early sandwich with the guy in the coma. I'd already sent Chase downstairs to help Cuddy and the rest of the staff in the clinic, and was more than halfway through the ton of emails, thinking about lunch with Eric … when House's phone rang. Not bothering to see who it was, I picked up the phone, crooking it between my ear and neck as I continued typing.

"Diagnostics Department - Dr. House's office. Can I help you?"

"Yes, you can," Eric's voice came through the speaker. "What kind of food should I order for lunch with someone special? And, keep in mind; we're talking hospital food here, so the choices are limited."

I giggled, smiling so widely I almost dropped the phone from its' snug spot under my ear at the rush of feelings I felt, hearing his voice.

"Well, that depends," I answered him, adding a thoughtful tilt to my voice. "If this is just a casual lunch, then you can probably just go with the tater-tots and dried meatloaf. _But_," and I placed a lot of emphasis in my next words, "if this person is indeed as special as you say, then …" I paused dramatically, waiting for a response.

"Yes?" Eric's quiet, laughing voice came through the phone.

"… then anything you like would be just fine with her." There was silence on the line … both of us holding our breaths.

"Hmm … well, tater-tots it is, then!" Eric sang out between laughs. I managed to choke out a mock-offended "Eric!"- before joining him in laughter. I just _knew_ there was a smile on his face that matched mine; I could feel it through the line, as if I was there next to him.

"Sorry, Alison; I couldn't resist." His chuckles slowly died down, and I was struck by how much we'd laughed together, since he woke up from the biopsy. It was as though both of us had been re-wired, somehow. But I didn't want to get too deep in my thoughts at the moment; just hearing his cheery voice did wonders for my own spirits.

"Yeah, yeah … you just love teasing me, that's all. Are you OK – do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks. Just thought I'd take a chance on you being there doing email. It sounds quiet; are you alone?"

"Yep. Cuddy pulled Chase into the clinic to give a hand, and House is off … somewhere, I don't know exactly. So I've got the place to myself for now. We haven't gotten any new cases that I know of, so it may stay quiet between now and lunchtime. Hopefully." I sighed, suddenly feeling the lack of real sleep I've been subjecting myself to the past couple of weeks.

"You're still tired." Eric said, in a statement rather than a question. I didn't bother to pretend otherwise; he would've seen right through me, anyway.

"A little, I guess. Haven't had my coffee yet; we're all out down here, and I haven't had a chance to go get some yet." I told him.

"Maybe you should try to grab a nap, then … since there aren't any cases and Chase is covering the clinic. Why don't you go and see if you can bunk out on Wilson's couch for an hour or so. You'll feel better that way, rather than stoking up on coffee."

I smiled at his concern. "Thanks, Eric, but I'll be fine – really. I'm pretty excited, actually, about a couple of things."

"Oh? Pray tell …" I grinned, and leaned back in House's chair to give my back some relief from bending over the keyboard for a long while. I decided not to tell Eric about the argument earlier between House and I; he could hear about it later from me; for now, I didn't want to dwell on anything having to do with House. "I had an interesting and productive conversation with Cuddy this morning. She is very receptive to the idea of releasing you to go home, pending the review with House, herself, and your buddies in Neurology. And of course, a sign-off from your primary physician."

"--who's getting _nothing_ but dried-out, burnt meatloaf from my kitchen … unless she toes the line and takes me home!" I gulped in pleased shock; was he intimating about future meals at his place, while at the same time, asking me to 'take him home'? I decided to muse on those points later; for now, I laughed somewhat nervously, still enjoying the banter between us.

"Well, _threatening_ to _not_ feed her may just result in you spending _another_ week here in the gentle clutches of PPTH!" I mock-threatened right back; hopefully covering over my pleasure and nervousness over the meaning behind his words.

"OK, OK … _man_, I was only kidding. Maybe that hair clip's wrapped a little too tight this morning, hmm?" Even though I'd decided to wear my hair more loosely today, I still wore a clip on one side that my older sister had given me years ago. It was one of my favorite possessions.

"Hmm … could be, Eric – because I feel like coming up there and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around a certain neurologist's neck, unless he lets me finish my good news!" There was silence on the other end of the line.

"_Please, Dr. Cameron_ … you please go right ahead with your news. I listen with bated, hospital breath." I snickered, before clearing my voice.

"_Thank you, Dr. Foreman_. Now, after you make it through the 'Spanish Inquisition', I think Cuddy's going to suggest we release you to go home for the next week or so to continue recovering – with one _little_ caveat."

My friend was quick on the mental uptake this morning, as he quickly figured out what it was I was referring to.

"_No!_ No way, Alison! I don't need a nurse hovering over me at home! I'm well enough to monitor my own condition, and I can certainly call for help if I—"

"--not even if the 'nurse' happens to be a certain immunologist?" I sweetly interrupted, waiting for his response and really enjoying his sudden spluttering silence. I thought that if I could see him at that moment, his lips would be in the shape of an 'O'. I smiled at the thought.

"You are _so _enjoying this, aren't you?" he said after another minute. I couldn't hold it in anymore; I finally broke out in laughter, and he joined in with a few chuckles of his own.

"Oh, yeah, you bet. You're not the only one who gets to tease around here. But you haven't answered my question. What do you think? She wants me to continue to monitor your progress … _and_ also take some time off, to 'get away from this place', to use her exact words. And, I thought, since I'd be visiting you anyway while you were at home, well … but, hey – if this is too much too soon, or if you're uncomfortable with it, then—" I closed my eyes, steeling myself for hearing all the reasons why this wasn't such a good idea from him.

"No! I mean … no, it's … perfect. Really. I didn't mean to give you the idea that I didn't want _you_ around; I just don't feel right about a nurse, that's all." I slowly opened my eyes again, smiling through the phone. I was really happy he said that.

"I understand, Eric. I'd feel the same way, and I'd want someone I was comfortable with watching over me, too. I thought this would be a good chance for us to spend some time together, too, since I know you're going to get better on your own anyway. I think Cuddy feels the same."

"I wouldn't have gotten this far if it weren't for you, Alison." His voice was … filled with such conviction and gratitude, that I didn't know what to say in response at first. But I knew that he was just thanking me again; and all I could finally manage, in a voice that matched his … "You're welcome, Eric. Always."

We were both silent for a while; each thinking, I felt sure, about the other. I was feeling a growing awareness of his thoughts and moods … and he could probably say the same thing about me. I'd never experienced anything quite like this before, or ever had a relationship that took such twists and turns as this one already had. Even though I could feel us growing closer, I wondered at that moment what he was thinking. So, I asked him.

"What are you thinking about?" He paused, giving a little sigh that told me there was a lot on his mind.

"I'm not sure … I was looking out of the window, just listening to you breathe … watching the different colors of the water from the rain earlier, and wondering … wow, you're going to think this is so weird …"

"What?" I gently prompted him, giving him a smile he couldn't see.

"Well …" he paused, searching for words as he whispered … "I was wondering what your favorite color was. I know you like blue, because your wardrobe seems to show that, and you always look good – but sometimes people's favorite color doesn't have anything to do with that."

I settled deeper into House's comfortable chair, trying to get closer to this man on the other end of the phone who was so thoughtful and caring … and who seemed to so easily and confidently mix in a compliment with the gentle thoughts and ideas his mind produced. It was amazing that we'd been practically at each other's throats less than two weeks ago; and that it took him almost dying for us to get to this point, on the other side of all of that …

Gently swinging back and forth in the chair, I whispered back to him, "You're right … I love blue, but I really love green the most. I know it's probably hard to tell, but I'm an outdoorsy kind of girl – love the spring, summer, and fall with everything green. It's one of the reasons I also like walks, and riding a bike, and …" I started laughing. "…you didn't ask for all of that, did you?" I felt at that moment like a little girl, unable to form real sentences. He was quiet for a moment … thinking so loud, it seemed that I could hear him through the wires of the phone.

"I did, actually. I feel like there's so much I don't know about you, even though I _also_ feel like I know you – does that make _any_ sense at all? Are you at this very moment getting ready to have Neurology come and strap me down for shock treatments?"

I giggled as he laughed at his joke, loving his sense of humor. At work, I was used to just seeing it in a medical context, or on those rare occasions when we were all out at some bar or restaurant together; but now, just between us … it was richer, deeper, like a spring that you knew existed, but hadn't any idea of its' real depth.

"I think you've had enough tests already to last a lifetime, don't you? And, to be honest … I'm feeling the same way about you, too. It's all just a little …"

"… disconcerting …" he replied.

"… distracting," I answered.

"Mmmm…" he added.

"Mmmm…" I agreed, idly watching staffers pass by the glass office walls as I listened to him breathing.

"Well," he sighed, "I guess I should let you get back to work …"

"Spoilsport," I whispered back, making him laugh again. I liked doing that.

"See you for lunch?"

"You bet … Cuddy will probably be by this afternoon with the rest of the Inquisition …" I warned him.

"I'll be ready."

"Good," I told him. "So will I." He chuckled.

"They won't know what hit 'em," he said.

"Eric?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you want something to eat from the cafeteria, instead of the kitchen? I could see what's on the menu …"

"That's OK, Alison. I can stand some bad food, as long as the company's good."

"Thank you." I told him. I could get used to this man's compliments.

"See you in a while…" he softly whispered in my ear.

"Take a nap if you want … I'll wake you for lunch, ok?"

"Maybe … we'll see."

"Bye, Eric."

"…bye, Alison…"

Slowly hanging up the phone, I turned the chair towards the windows behind House's desk; wondering if I could see the same colors Eric could through his window.

**END OF PART FOUR**


	5. Chapter 5

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 5 – Foreman"**

…a "House, M.D." story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating:** PG

I've loved everyone's comments so far - please continue to offer your constructive criticism! I want to get better at writing, and your observations help!

**Reviewers:**

"**WuHaoNi": **Hi! I try to really do a good job with opening sentences, because when I'm reading, I tend to lose focus and interest very quickly if the first one doesn't grab me.

"**Suzy87":** Yeah, I always wonder why the writers on the show don't put in more Cuddy/Cameron interaction. I had the conversation between Alison and Eric come to me while I was watching a friend talk to his girl friend over the phone, and bingo – inspiration! And in my universe, Alison is a stronger person in regards to House – not the weak, unsure woman she's portrayed as. Drives me nuts!

**FOREMAN**

Colors.

I've been lying here, in the hospital where I work - the hospital that I almost died in – and where I'm now recovering from a serious infection … thinking about colors.

The world outside my window's wet and drizzly, casting a water sheen over everything out there except for the native colors each tree, cloud, street, and person running between raindrops has of its' own. I'm facing the window, lying on my side; generally bored out of my skull while watching the changing colors pass by … the grays and whites of the clouds, the yellows and oranges in the occasional beam of sunlight that passes through the glass panes, and the greens and browns of the trees and buildings of the hospital campus.

I asked Alison about her favorite color during what sounded - to me at least - like a silly conversation about nothing at all … but also felt somehow like coming home to a comfortable house after a long day; kicking off my shoes, and instantly going into relaxed mode in familiar surroundings. That's what it's felt like lately, being around her. The "new and improved" Eric Foreman has apparently had all of his rough edges burnished away by the gentle, feisty spirit of this woman, whose spell everyone seemed to fall under in some form or another; this new-again friend of mine who saved my life … and who didn't just walk away afterward.

She should have; because lately, I'd given her more than enough reasons to.

But with everything that's happened, it never struck me until now that she'd seen right through me and my prideful, stupid, scared ways - every step of the way.

She wouldn't accept my apology when I was at my lowest, losing control to the intense pain I was in … because all it took was for her to look once in my pain-filled eyes, and she knew right away that that's where it was really coming from; not from any real desire for redemption.

How did she know?

As closely as we've worked together since being hired by House, being in the same department all of these months; and even with the occasional (and I do mean occasional) social contact we've had … she saw the real truth of me at that moment. And didn't back away, or entirely disown me.

She just refused to let me apologize until later, when there wasn't any other choice for either of us; when neither of us knew whether we'd have the chance again. I don't remember anything about sinking into the medically-induced coma, except for two things; she finally, tearfully, forgave me; and her voice was full of anguish. Everything else was a blur; a poor dim reflected memory that I can't really trust, or rely on. I knew my dad was there, and I think I said something to him … but all that I remember clearly - is Alison.

Is that what's at the heart of all of these emotions I'm feeling now? Some kind of … debt of gratitude I know I'll never quite repay?

I'm not sure. It could just have been the fear that started it all.

Not the fear of that moment … when I slipped away from my father and a woman who I thought hated me, but who then found it in herself to forgive me; maybe for the last time.

But the fear I had after I woke up, and found myself back in the world again, with my dad there … as well as the woman whose voice and face were still full of tears. I knew instantly that I was different; not the same person who'd gotten a parasite that almost killed him; but someone who looked in her eyes and saw … my life.

What does something like that do to a person?

When I was in college doing pre-med, I took more than my share of philosophy courses. I preferred (to my professor's disappointment) to just sit and listen to the discussions, rather than join in. I did participate some of the time. I just found that I learned more, learned how to think more critically and dispassionately, if I remained quiet,; listening to the thoughts of others … gathering and soaking in their insights and adding them to what I thought. It was a great time of self-awareness for me. But then, the coursework got heavier, and those philosophy classes were gradually discarded so that I could have more time to study things like biology and chemistry and the human body.

I feel like I'm back in that mode of self-awareness. But there's something different this time. Now, there isn't a field of thoughts, ideas, and insights for me to harvest and add to my being. There's just one thing; a person, a woman who has vexed, frustrated, angered, amazed, thrilled, and consistently surprised me, time after time. She's felt like some kind of lodestone - a guide, for me to find my way back to myself. If I'm to regain my abilities as a doctor, I think I'll need her help.

But if I want to discover more about the kind of person I am, and can be … I'm sure that she'll be a part of it.

I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, listening to the beeps of the equipment in my room. It's an interesting perspective change; before, I listened to those sounds for what they told me about the person who was generating them; now, they're my own. I think about them, and also about the intimate, soothing way she sounded while we were bantering and teasing each other on the phone … and about the kiss she gave me before she left this morning.

Oh, yeah. That _kiss._

I reach up to touch the place on my cheek where her lips rested for a moment, and the skin there feels warmer than the area around it, even now. My imagination, I know, but … fun to think about, anyway. Turning to lay on my side, I feel myself dozing off … smiling a little, because I know she'll be glad I'm sleeping when she comes. The beeps fade away...

When they return, they're not alone. My nose catches whiffs of new smells - something that reminds me of fish, and other things in the air; as well as a lot more ambient noises from the hallway outside, too.

And there's someone in the room with me.

I decide to open my eyes very, very slowly; in case it's just a nurse. I raise my eyelids a little, and general impressions form. A food table sits parked next to the foot of my bed with a tray and covered plates on it, along with what looks like a glass of iced tea. And someone's sitting in a chair by my bed.

She's brunette, and her head is tilted down, facing something in her lap. A book: something medical, from the look of anatomical pictures on the pages, also loaded with heavy text. Her leg's crossed, and her blue skirt has risen high enough for me to glimpse shapely thighs, covered by panty hose. She's left her hospital coat and suit jacket off; I finally notice them hanging from the clothes tree near the other end of the room. There's also, I now see without turning my head or making any sort of sound, a paper bag sitting on the side table between us. It's her lunch, I guess; Alison is very much a 'brown-bagger' kind of person. She often brings her lunch from home, and we all tease her because of their mostly vegetarian contents. She's not, though; she occasionally eats meat and fish like the rest of us; but probably has, other than health-nut Chase, the most balanced diets of us all. House loves his pastrami and Vicodin; Chase is a fairly big meat-eater himself; and I was raised on the comfort foods and high-protein meals of a black mother.

I'm not sure, but I think she actually hears me smile when I think about our respective eating habits, and raises her head to catch me watching her; smiling when our eyes meet.

"Hey, you," she whispers … leaning closer to me as she closes and puts the book she was reading on the side table next to the brown bag. Her naturally pale skin reflects the light from the windows and ceiling, and I guess from the longer shadows in the corners that I've slept for a couple of hours, at least.

"Hi yourself," I answer … my voice still filled with sleep. "Been waiting long?" I give her a rakish grin as I glance at the food tray on the cart. She grins back at me, her eyes lighting up.

"_Too_ long, mister," she deadpans. "I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to have lunch without you."

"Not before seeing if there's anything you can scarf from my tray, no doubt." We fall into our banter without any effort.

"Well, there's that, I guess," she answers, chuckling a little. "But I didn't want to miss any of your company." Our eyes were locked on each other's, and I could feel the warmth of her breath as she moved even closer to me. "How are you feeling?"

Never looking away from my face, I watched her get up from her chair and move it a little farther away from the bed, then come and sit down next to me. I scooted over a little to make room for her; not too much, because I wanted to be as close to her as I could manage. She glances up at the monitors above my bed, and I take a moment to study her. Her thin arms, open collar, and graceful neck hover over me, and I can appreciate her soft curves and natural beauty. A knowing grin appears on her face before she looks down at me again.

"Like what you see, Eric?" she asks in a whisper. I clear my throat, quickly looking away for a second from the look of mixed emotions appearing on her face.

"Sorry … I didn't mean to 'objectify' you, Dr. Cameron." I try to sound as earnest as possible, but even I could hear the undertone of insincerity in my voice.

"Darn! Well, I guess I'll need to keep trying, maybe with more revealing outfits…" she muses thoughtfully, and laughs as I shake my head with a grin.

"You're _too_ much; you know that, right?" I asked her. She gravely nodded, as if I'd told her the time of day or something else factual.

"Well, House _did_ apparently hire me for my looks, so I should take advantage of that whenever I can, right?"

I gave her a mock-glare.

"_Must_ I push you off the bed again? You're not making things any easier for me, you know!" We both laughed as she playfully slapped my arm, being careful to avoid the sensor wires and IV drip that still delivered the anti-parasitic drug to my bloodstream … the only remaining medicine I was on.

"Better not, or I'll have to retaliate by not giving you stuff from home," she said, nodding at the small luggage bag I hadn't noticed before, sitting next to the bathroom door. I looked at it; it was one of my travel bags, and it looked quite full. I glance back at her as she presses the controls of the bed, raising the head so that I could be in a sitting position for our lunch together.

"You went by my place?" I ask, yawning a little.

"Yep," she nods. "I finished House's email early, and decided to make a run over there while you were sleeping. Picked up a few things for you; your IPod, a couple of medical journals, some of your mail, and a couple of changes of clothing. I dropped your suit and shirt at the cleaners, too; they'll be ready whenever you want to pick them up. I figured, though, that when you went home tomorrow that you'd want something casual to wear; so I brought your running shoes – they're on the bottom of the bag."

"Thanks, Alison. That's really nice of you." She smiled.

"You're very welcome. Um…you're going to need to go shopping for food, too; I went ahead and threw out the perishables from your fridge while I was there."

"Yeah, I figured as much. I wasn't looking forward to coming back home to what I'd find in there, after being stuck here so long. It probably started to look like my own personal biohazard lab or something." She gave a shake of her head, along with a wry grin.

"Well, don't worry about it anymore. You really don't have much food left, though. Speaking of; you hungry?" She started to slide the food tray over to the bed, uncovering the plates of food that the kitchen had sent up.

"I could eat a horse. What do we have?" I asked, adjusting the covers over my legs and lap, and pushing wires further out of the way.

"Let's see – wow, looks like someone in the kitchen likes you. There's some nice-looking fish, and mashed potatoes with green beans, and iced tea." At that moment, my stomach decided to speak out on its' own … and Alison laughed.

"Guess that means the selection is appealing to monsieur!" she giggled, moving the tray close enough for me, as I gave her a half-glare. She handed me the silverware and a napkin; then, she picked up the brown bag from the table and opened it … pulling out a tuna fish sandwich, pickle, and bottled water.

"Hmm," I commented, looking at her lunch, "good to see you're a cheap date." A small piece of tuna suddenly flew towards me, and I deftly picked it out of the air; placing it in my mouth and chewing noisily, nodding. She glared at me, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Oh, shut up and eat, _you_. And I _wouldn't_ count on this being the most expensive thing we eat together, pal!"

"I knew it!" I exclaimed, pretending to be offended. "You're after my money!" We both dug into our food, still trading quips and barbs.

"Hey," she replied, trying to eat and talk at the same time, "I _saw_ what you spend money on in that place of yours. That 60" flat screen TV probably cost more than all of my possessions together! And _where_ did you find that great couch?!? It's as big as a boat!" She'd never been inside my place before. She'd dropped me off several times, after I'd had car trouble, or for other reasons. That's one thing I didn't spend a lot on - decent wheels.

I gave her a conspiratorial grin. "Well, the TV is mainly for sports, and I got a great deal on it; it's also great for watching DVDs, too." She nodded. "And the couch, well, that came from my house back home. That used to be in the living room; my mother got tired of it, but it was still in great shape … so they shipped it to me here." I was halfway through my fish and mashed potatoes before I'd realized; the kitchen folks did a great job with it … or maybe it was the company I had that made the difference.

I preferred to believe the latter.

"Does that mean that we'll get to watch a lot of stuff at your place, then? Your TV beats mine hands-down." Unlike her, I'd actually been to her place a few times. It was where we'd done the bulk of the writing for our journal article, as well as the hospital library with its' T-1 connection to the Internet. Both Alison and I had Internet access at home; but it was of the DSL variety. Neither of us, along with every other doctor at the hospital, spent much time at home anyway, so we did most of our Web research at work on the hospital's faster computers.

Along with almost everything else at the modern, state-of-the art hospital we worked at, PPTH did not scrimp on technology.

"Definitely," I told her. "I'll even feed you, once in a while; I'm a pretty good cook, too." She paused in mid-swallow; her mouth hanging open for a moment. I thought I saw what looked like admiration on her face.

"I didn't know that, Eric. I did notice all of the spices and cooking utensils … but I figured you didn't use them much." I guess I'd surprised her.

"Oh, no … everything gets used, trust me. It's a stress-reliever for me; sometimes after a day with House, I go home and cook for a couple of hours. I manage to make decent stuff more often than not, and I'd love to cook for you if you're willing." She raised her eyebrows.

"Are you kidding? A cute doctor who cooks? My mother would be _so_ proud!" I choked on some green beans, laughing so hard at her joke that I thought one of the beans would leave through a nostril unless I got my breathing under control. Alison helped by quickly coming closer, reaching behind me to rub my back as I finally managed to swallow the food … then nodded as she handed me my iced tea. I took a couple of swallows before I finally felt back in control.

"You all right?" she was leaning over me, very close, her hand still rubbing my upper back.

"Mmm, that feels good," I answer … slowly letting my head lean forward, giving her hand more room to do her magic. Her warm fingers found knots of tightness and tension, and she slowly worked out all of the kinks. She moved the food tray away from the bed with her foot, and then told me, "Lean forward a little more."

I wanted her to keep going, it felt so good … but I wasn't sure who might be watching from the hallway.

"Alison--" I started, but she stopped me.

"It's alright, Eric-let me, please?" I could tell that she was intent on doing this for me, so I slid forward on the bed a little more, closing my eyes as both of her hands ran across and over my neck and upper shoulders; as much as she could reach through the hospital gown I was still wearing. Her fingers felt incredible; it was all I could do not to moan in pleasure.

She sat next to me, and I was warmed even further by the closeness of her … as well as the massage she was giving me. My breathing deepened … and the room fell quiet except for the quiet beeps from the monitors and the occasional sighs she drew from me.

I lost track of time, feeling her fingers move across my skin … and I shook myself when I finally felt her hands slowly withdraw. I leaned back against the bed, still in an upright position; unwilling to let the cooler air of the room reach my warmed and tingling skin. I languidly watched her as she sat back down near me again, idly adjusting the covers over me until her hands finally stilled; and then her eyes slowly met mine. We were communicating silently … not speaking at all.

We stayed that way for I'm not quite sure how long, before I reached over and took one of her hands in mine. She glanced down at our joined hands, and then back up to me … a tiny, warm smile on her face. I squeezed her fingers, and she answered by running them over and through mine, a mini-massage after the fuller one she'd just given.

The spell in the room was broken by a quiet knock at the sliding doors; a nurse had come to remove the lunch. Alison never moved an inch; she stayed where she was, hand still in mine, as the nurse bustled around us for a couple of minutes; collecting all of the trash, dishes, and the tray. She also took the remains of Alison's lunch as well; and then left; a knowing smile on her lips that I noticed, but Alison hadn't. She still sat there, all her attention focused on me.

I could feel my eyelids starting to slowly close a little again in the very relaxed state I was in, but I didn't want to drift off. I was fighting a losing battle, though; the decent food, the massage, and the incredible comfort of having Alison next to me all working together … putting me in a very drowsy state. She noticed, and whispered to me…

"Go ahead, sweetie – nap for a while; I'll be here," in a quiet voice that barely reached my ears.

My eyes were almost closed at that point; I felt her get up from her spot by me and return to the chair by the bed. I missed the warmth of her body, but she kept my hand in hers. The sun had passed its' highest point, and the long rays of the midday were giving way to the shorter, darker lights of a cloudy mid afternoon. I turned a little in the bed to face her, my eyes still closed … and I could feel sleep reaching for me. I felt her reach over to cover my bare shoulder with the blanket … and then she leaned down to give me a lingering kiss on my temple. I drifted away … idly wondering if I'd ever rest this well without her nearby ever again.

When I next woke, the sky outside had gotten darker, and she was still there in the chair … reading. Her eyeglasses (I'd never known someone so young who used actual reading glasses) were perched on her nose; still holding my hand in hers, while turning pages with the other.

We remained that way until a noise at the door drew both our attention; Cuddy, House, and a doctor (I guessed that's what she was) I hadn't seen before were there, and Cuddy seemed to be hesitant to disturb us. I waved a hand, signaling that it was ok for them to come in, and it was only then that Alison slowly released my hand. There was a look in her eyes when she did, though, that seemed as regretful about it as I was. It was replaced by an encouraging smile as the other three doctors entered the room. Alison turned her chair towards the foot of the bed where Cuddy stood; House and the other doctor (who wore a suit, but no identifying PPTH ID) stood at her shoulders.

"How are you doing, Foreman?" she started. House reached over to take the chart book she carried away from her, and she paused to glare at him for a moment.

"I'm fine, Dr. Cuddy. How're you guys doing?" I answered her in what I'd hoped was a healthy-sounding, strong voice.

"Good, Doctor," she replied, giving me an encouraging smile. "We're just here to check on you, and chat about how things are going. You haven't met Dr. Langdon here; she's a cognitive neurologist from another hospital I've called in to consult on your case. Our board does this occasionally when our own doctors are treated for serious illnesses like yours; it's a consult, that's all. OK with you?"

"Sure," I told her. Alison glanced at me, and I met her look briefly before addressing the new doctor, who was now reviewing my chart after House had finished with it. He spoke up, probably having detected the slight look of concern that passed between Alison and I.

"Cuddy brought in a 'gunslinger' on me, too, when I had my 'little trouble', Foreman; so don't be popping no caps on anyone, 'bro'" House told me. I ignored him, and spoke directly to the neurologist who stood quietly next to Cuddy.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Langdon. This is Dr. Cameron, a friend and fellow doctor here at PPTH." I made sure no one ignored Alison's presence; wondering why neither Cuddy nor House had bothered to introduce her. No reason why I couldn't start on a good foot with this 'gunslinger', as House called her. She seemed as far from one as you could imagine; short, dour, older than any of us with the possible exception of House; she seemed focused on her work and little else. I frowned slightly when she didn't answer right away, and I could see Alison frown as well.

"The pleasure is mine, Dr. Foreman," she finally answered. "And it's nice to meet you, too, Dr. Cameron. I heard you had a nasty time with that parasite. What was it called, again?" she asked me. Aha, I told myself; let the testing begin. I didn't like her seemingly apparent brush-off of Alison … but after a quick look from her, decided not to say anything that could be seen as uncooperative.

I gave her the answer she was looking for, even spelling the name of the particular parasite and giving its' particular histology. House smirked, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said. Asking me several more questions; half memory testing, and half cognitive; she finally nodded, wrote a note on the chart and added her signature to it, and then addressed the room at large.

"Well, from his charts and responses to all of the neurological tests and answers to questions, I would say Dr. Foreman's progressing quite nicely. His blood work's almost normal; and if you were looking at releasing him to finish recuperating at home, I see no problem with that. I see here that Dr. Cameron's his primary; what do you think, Doctor?" she asked Alison. Before answering, Alison turned to me … giving me a little wink, before answering. Everyone but Cuddy seemed to miss it; and _she_ had a very small grin on her lips. Alison cleared her voice, and then replied, "Well, we wouldn't have been able to keep him in his room too much longer. His progress has been amazing so far, and he's in good spirits." At that, House snorted – but didn't make another sound, when both Alison and Cuddy glared at him. Continuing, Alison said that she agreed with the prognosis, and had no objections to releasing 'the patient.'

After a few more minutes, Dr. Langdon excused herself; apparently, she considered me no longer interesting as a case … although I noticed that she paid more than a little attention to the protectiveness Alison showed during the exam. Once she'd gone, House immediately commented on it.

"Well, Cameron – could you be any more 'touchy-feely' with Foreman while your mom and I have guests over for a visit?" he lobbed at her, raising his eyebrows at Alison while Cuddy sent him a glare. Alison stiffened, and was about to reply when I beat her to the punch.

"Why don't you mind your own business, House … we all know how inept you are with real human relationships! Alison's being a friend; someone who's been by a little more than my own boss to check up on my progress, I could say." House canted his head, studying the two of us like we were some bug species under a microscope.

"Yes … I know _all_ about the time she's spent here, Foreman – including the trip to your apartment that I hadn't approved beforehand, as a matter of fact-"

"House – shut up!" Cuddy exploded. "_I_ approved Alison leaving the hospital and going over to get Eric some things from home. You have the strangest timing about the rules, so butt out of it! She _had_ approval from _your_ boss, so there's no problem … and there'd better not be any further problems in Diagnostics over it! In fact, I can pretty much guarantee there won't be; for a while, at least." House glanced sharply at Cuddy's seeming turn in the conversation, and I have to admit I was very curious about what she'd say next. Alison just continued to sit still next to me; and I wondered if her seeming lack of curiosity meant that this was something she'd already discussed with Cuddy.

"Oh? And how are you going to do that in my department, Cuddy?" House shot back. "Listen to all the bugs you've planted in the office walls?" Cuddy walked right up to House, her arms crossed over her chest – an almost predatory smile on her face. House glanced down at her blouse, and then plastered a lecherous grin on his unshaven face. "Showing off the cleavage - while distracting - won't do the trick here, I'm afraid. Now, _if _you could convince Cameron to join you…" When I heard that, I started to get out of the bed, intending to throw House from my room; but Alison placed a hand on my shoulder, holding me down. I glanced up at her, and she had a thoughtful look on her face; not angry, or upset, as I would have expected. She'd never been more than a few inches from me all through the exam and interview, giving me her unqualified support and encouragement by being there. Now, though, it was as if she was waiting for something to happen; maybe for Cuddy to explain her comment about preventing the typical strife in Diagnostics. I felt the warmth of her hand as she squeezed my shoulder gently, and some of the strong emotions I was feeling at that moment started to leave. I settled back down in bed, deciding that I'd follow her lead; watch and listen to see what would happen next. I did give House a murderous look, though; one that he completely dismissed with a cocky grin on his unshaven face.

Apparently, though, House was more than a little curious as well, because he glanced between the three of us, noticing the change in atmosphere in the room, as well as the unspoken undercurrents of something else happening. Cuddy watched him for another moment (it wasn't often that Gregory House appeared uncertain about anything; when it did happen, it was cause for a national holiday, at least), and then looked over her shoulder back at Alison and I.

"I think we should talk about releasing Foreman tomorrow, and sending Cameron along with him to monitor things for a week or so. He's healed as much as he can here; it's time to let him go home, so I can get a paying customer in this room, at least." She winked at me as she said the last part; I grinned back at her. "Cameron needs time off from work, and I can use Chase in the NICU for a few days. That leaves you and the clinic, House, since Diagnostics hasn't had a case since Foreman's."

House stood there, seemingly dumfounded. The only thing missing was his mouth hanging open; but House was too good an observer of human nature, and a politician - when he needed to be - to be taken completely by surprise. He had to know that at least part of what Cuddy had suggested would likely be happening at some point; but, being someone who craved challenges and who despised routine and boredom, refused to give up without a struggle.

"If you think I'm going to be stuck in the clinic while half my department is out wasting time, and I have no one but the wombat to do my bidding if a case comes in, you're fruitier than a fruit fly, Cuddy!" She seemed to expect exactly the reaction House had given, and held up a finger to forestall any other protests from him.

"First of all, Dr. House, you'll do whatever I say, since I'm the boss. And since your department has been light on cases, I'm redeploying resources until something comes in that I think merits your team's attention. So, you have a choice – continue to bitch and moan, or look forward to a week at least in the clinic – _without_ anyone to order to do your hours for you. A few things are going to take place for sure; Foreman's going home to continue recovering; Cameron's taking some time off to rest, and to keep an eye on him; and Chase will help out in the NICU at least half of the next week. We're thin on intensivists right now, and its' flu season for children. If a case comes in for Diagnostics, you can _consult_ with both Chase and Cameron, but you will NOT bring her back in for any reason - unless I know about and approve it first; and of course Foreman can't practice at all, until he's cleared by the physician oversight panel when he returns. And by the way, House, that doesn't mean that you harass Cameron with inane phone calls; if she reports even one dumbass call or visit from you to me or Wilson, it's an automatic clinic sentence – NO appeals! IF you can manage to behave yourself, I'll only assign you clinic duty for a couple of days – not the entire week. BUT, if you continue to be a pain in the ass - it's a WHOLE week with the 'unwashed', as you so crassly refer to our patients. Now – are you OK with Foreman being released? And keep in mind the phrase 'pain in the ass,' as you answer!"

All three of us stared at her, mostly in shock. In one short speech, she'd managed to deal with our entire team's issues for a week at least; assuming we didn't get any cases of the plague or anything like that. She'd pretty much made the decision to release me; gave Cameron some needed time off (and the chance to visit me); snagged Chase for a department that had been trying to steal him outright from House for months now, and threatened House himself with dire consequences (to him, at least) if he made a fuss about any of it. Now, all we had to do was see how he'd react to apparently being so outmaneuvered. At that moment, Wilson entered the room; his hands in the pockets of his lab coat … instantly picking up on the tension and emotion in the air.

"Am I missing a party here, or what?" he asked, looking at each of us and ending with House … who was fuming.

"She's sending half my team away for a _week_, Wilson, just to give them a chance to 'connect' under other excuses - and she's taking the wombat from me, too; for those brats in the NICU. And now she's threatening to throw me in the dreaded clinic if I revolt against these unjust changes…" House was in full acting mode, we all could see … especially Wilson, who studied everyone's face again; immediately discerning the 'lay of the land' before responding to anything House said. I was sure at that moment that Cuddy had discussed things with him beforehand; and it was possible that some of what was happening was his own idea, at least in part. He and Cuddy collaborated a lot on management and personnel decisions, and she depended on him to be her 'right hand' – especially when dealing with Diagnostics.

"Greg, it all sounds good to me. Why keep Foreman here any longer – he's recovering nicely, from what I hear." He glanced at me, giving me a grin that I returned. "And Alison's been through the wringer lately, so why not give her some time away to recharge at the same time? I know Chase has been bored, and we seem to have gotten a lot of sick kids in here lately; so he can really help us out there. _Have_ you guys gotten any cases today?" House gravely shook his head, and Wilson shrugged. "Well, there you go, then. Why don't you use the down time productively until something comes in that's interesting?" Wilson was in his element; reasoning with House in just the right tone of voice, and leading him unobtrusively to decisions he needed to get to.

"Well," House began, "there _are _all those relationships on the soaps that need my _constant_ attention – in stark contrast to the ones going on in my own department" giving both Alison and I a wriggle of his bushy eyebrows as he spoke – "so I will graciously accede to your request, 'massa' Cuddy. Foreman, you're out of here – go and crap the rest of those parasites out of your system at home, and stay away from the neighbor's houses while you're at it. Cameron – don't come whining to me when bro here kicks you to the curb; my door will definitely _not_ be open for the next week; or until all of those thousands of emails that will be waiting for you when you get back are dealt with. Cuddy, I want to check in with the wombat daily; those philistines in neonatal care have been trying to steal him from his dada, and homey don't play that!"

He then limped out of the room, his cane almost making skid marks on the tile as he headed down the hall towards the elevators. The rest of us let out a collective sigh; and then we started laughing at ourselves.

"That was a little too easy," Wilson said after we'd all regained control of our voices.

"Yeah – he's planning something. I could see it in his little beady eyes," Alison said.

"Wait – Foreman, does he have a key to your place?" Wilson asked. Cuddy just gaped at him, as Alison and I exchanged a worried look. She looked worse, because she looked down at the floor, shaking her head.

"Alison?" I slowly asked her, dreading what she was going to tell me. She swallowed a few times, and looked at me with a pleading face. "Eric, I'm sorry … but I was keeping your keys, phone, and wallet in my desk drawer while you were in here …"

"…and he has access to it," I finished for her. I reached up to rub my temples, as Alison whispered to me, "Sorry."

"Hey, it's not your fault we work for a BASTARD!" I screamed out in frustration. "Aarrgh!" She tried to calm me as I ranted. "No one knows more than me what he'll do with my keys – he's sent me on enough of those damn home invasions!" I flopped back onto my pillows, while Cuddy looked out of the window and Wilson looked through the glass doors … picturing House going through Cameron's drawer back in his office, if he hadn't done so already. He placed his hands on his hips in thought, and then turned back to me. "Foreman – do you have a locksmith?" We all looked at him, and he shrugged. I met his eyes, seeing the wheels turn, and then said, "Well …the apartment complex usually handles that, but they let you call someone in on an emergency – why?"

"This qualifies as an emergency, I think," Cuddy said, picking up on Wilson's thoughts. "Alison, can you collect all of Eric's possessions from your desk drawer, and bring them to my office for safekeeping until he goes home? I had special tamper-proof locks installed on my office doors not long after hiring House, so I'm reasonably sure he hasn't invaded it. When you've done that, bring Eric his cell phone. Eric, call a locksmith right away and have all your locks changed - and send me the bill. I'll take the money from House's legal defense fund. If your landlord has a problem with it, have them call me. We'll give them a story about a mentally ill old man who used to work at the hospital possibly having gotten copies of your keys made, and give them House's description for a complex-wide BOLO." Wilson, Alison, and I all burst out laughing, while Cuddy looked very proud of herself.

"I can't believe this," I said. "Having my locks changed because of my boss!" Cuddy shook her head in sympathy at my feelings of obvious frustration and anger.

"We'd better do this sooner than later, because House now has a time frame to work with – he knows you're going home tomorrow," Alison added. She looked at me with a mixture of concern and excitement; and I completely understood her feelings.

"Forget the cell, then – Foreman, get on the phone here in the room. I'll have the nurse bring a phone book in here if there isn't one here already. Cameron – your vacation, for the next week at least, officially starts tomorrow … but you can have the rest of the day to help Eric get ready to leave. Have his discharge papers ready for us to sign when I get here in the morning, and I'd suggest that you take him off of the anti-parasitic after dinner to let his system get realigned overnight. Your call, though."

"Sounds good to me," Alison said with a smile, and reached down to touch my hand. "Let me go back to the office to get your stuff and drop them off at Cuddy's office, and then I'll be back; ok?" she asked me.

I gave her a smile that I hoped held all the promise for the next week, even with the threat of House hovering over us. I was betting that if he tried to come by my place and discovered his pilfered copies of my keys no longer worked, that would be the end of it; he'd lose interest, finding another game to amuse himself with. He'd probably try slipping in through Chase or Wilson if he didn't; but that was something I could deal with later.

For the moment, one thought was uppermost in my mind: _I was going home!_

I looked up into Alison's face, our smiles matching each others' in brilliance. We hadn't even noticed Cuddy and Wilson quietly leaving the room. I guess we really had to watch this 'getting lost in each other's eyes' thing.

The spell was broken after a few more moments, and we both quickly cleared out throats as we returned to the here and now; looking around and finding ourselves alone, we gave each other wry grins.

"Guess Cuddy and Wilson got tired of waiting for us," she said in a small, embarrassed voice.

"Guess so…" I answered. "Man, I can't quite believe it. I'm going to make it out of here under my own power!"

She gave a little shake of her head. "Not quite."

"Huh?" I asked, puzzled at her meaning. She shook her head to clear her hair away from her face, with an impish grin forming.

"Don't you remember? You get a free wheelchair ride tomorrow from your room, to my car - and I volunteer to be your driver!" I groaned, rolling my eyes at the silly hospital policy of avoiding lawsuits by insisting EVERY patient discharged from the hospital leave in a wheelchair; and she laughed … that throaty, rich laugh that I loved so much. At that moment, I would have welcomed riding in that wheelchair in my hospital gown, if it meant I could hear _that _laugh. I took her hand in mine, and watched her eyebrows raise a little; until that moment, she'd been the one to initiate any physical contact between us. Inwardly, I promised her that would change. For now, it was a perfect time to tease her; something that was fast becoming one of my favorite things to do.

"Just lay off those Shirley Temples tonight, and I _should_ be safe enough with you tomorrow, I guess…" I told her, studying her face with a critical, unforgiving eye. Once again, I'd managed to surprise her, her mouth hung open in surprise, but her eyes glittered at the prospect of more bantering between us.

"Eric Foreman - you keep it up with comments like _that_, and I'll be sure to push you into a ditch or something! I haven't had a Shirley Temple in a year – so stop making fun of me!" She tried to pull her hand away from mine, pretending to be upset; but I held on tight.

"Don't – the world only feels right to me when we're holding hands…" We both froze at hearing those words come from me.

Wow – where did THAT come from? I paused in shock, wondering how she'd react … and also wondering if I'd pushed things too far, too fast. I risked a glance at her face to see how much damage I'd done.

What I saw instead caught me by surprise. She was staring at me, her large dark eyes tearing … and my heart clenched, because I knew I was the cause of those tears. I started to apologize, to find a way back to where we'd been just a few moments ago; but she quickly put a stop to whatever I could think of to say by slowly shaking her head, still watching me with a look I'd never seen before on her face.

"Eric …" she began, and then shook herself before clearing her throat, tears slowly leaving her eyes, "that was … no one's ever said anything as wonderful as that to me before …"

I was floored. She wasn't upset at all.

"You're not …I mean, that wasn't too—" She tilted her head at an angle, giving me a puzzled look.

"What? Did you think I'd be mad or something? Eric, haven't you been paying attention to what's been happening between us? Of course, I'm not mad, upset, or anything like that. What you just said … was so beautiful …" She looked away for a second, and then her eyes found mine again. "I hope you really meant it--because you should know that I feel the same way."

There she was, being strong and courageous; in contrast to my own indecisiveness and fear. What was it about her that made me react this way? Usually, I didn't have many problems generally being decisive in relationships; but with her …

Never mind, I told myself. I was going to meet her equally, on our terms, from now on - no backing away, no hiding my feelings. Whatever I was feeling, whatever it meant; she deserved to see everything. I could deal with my insecurities and uncertainties later. I met her gaze, and saw concern there in her eyes. She could sense my feelings, somehow, and she must be thinking it had something, everything to do with us. It didn't; and it was time I told her so.

"Yes, I did mean it, Alison. I do feel that way about you. While you were holding my hand while I was sleeping … it was like I could feel you there in my dreams. I don't remember what it was I was dreaming about, but I remember you being there – wherever 'there' was. And, no, before you ask; no one's come in and changed my meds to something a psych patient should be on…"

She laughed, and the tension dropped away from us like an umbrella we didn't need to hold up anymore as we walked through a sudden rainstorm.

"You're so funny… I wish you'd shown me this side of you before, in the office; but I guess you had to be 'super-neurologist doctor man' and keep your 'hair' up, to hide your secret identity as a _marshmallow_!" I poked her in the ribs, chuckling. She giggled for a second or two; then she sobered, and looked deeply in my eyes. "You say these things to me, and make me laugh and smile … I was getting so depressed, waiting for you to wake up, Eric. Ever since you did, I've been – _happy_. Happier than I've been in a long time. Because of you. So, please don't stop, or pull away from me. Cause I think it's important for you to know that you have that effect on me. On…my heart."

She held my eyes with an intense look, filled with emotion and promise. She really wanted me to know, to understand that the … connection … we had was something she wanted to keep, and to see grow. At the same time, she wanted to know if I wanted the same thing.

If I'd been standing, I was sure that the tiniest wind would have been enough to knock me over at that moment. She was opening her heart to me, as scared as she apparently was of being rejected again; when I'd rejected our friendship before; and as others have rejected her. She _was_ scared and vulnerable; I saw it in her dark, wet eyes. She closed them for a moment, sighing and shaking herself; and then she rubbed her eyes to dry them. Giving me a small, warm smile, she slowly stood.

"I … have to go, and get your things. There's something else you should think about. I love being with you, Eric Foreman. I … know you have worries, and doubts. About that, at least, you shouldn't. Trust it."

If a person could draw physical, tangible certainty from another, I did, during that moment with Alison. The look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know; everything that was there between us.

"Be back soon, ok?" she asked in a soft, musical voice she only seemed to use around me. I nodded slowly, reluctantly letting her hand go. She moved it away from my fingers, then, raising her hand to my face …placed her palm on my cheek … gently caressing it…then she turned away, and slowly started moving towards the door.

"Alison?" She paused, but didn't turn around. "Yes, Eric?" she answered …her back to me.

"I love being with you, too. You know that, right?" I told her. Her shoulders seemed to relax, and she started walking towards her lab coat on the hanger at the back of the room, and slipped it on… still facing away from me. She quickly brushed her hand across her face; she was crying, and trying not to let me see. When she finally turned around, after she'd reached the door …she found my eyes with hers, and whispered,

"I do now, sweetie." Then she was gone, and the room immediately felt darker, even though the remnant of the day's late sun was still in the sky, along with the light from the wall and table lamps.

I laid there for a long tine, thinking about her … and then buzzed the nurse for a phone book.

She was gone for quite a while; longer than I thought she'd be. Meanwhile, I'd located a locksmith in my neighborhood, who had done work before at the apartment complex where I lived; and after explaining as much as I could about the necessary rush job with both my landlord and the 'smith, I arranged to pick up the new keys from the landlord when I got back home--or whenever Alison could go by there to get them for me. I also gave strict instructions that if any man with House's description came by, with any sort of a story about needing to get into my place …they were to politely refuse, and then call me. Satisfied with the arrangements, I settled back into my bed with the medical journals Alison had brought from home; along with my IPod. I needed some nice blues music to focus on while I read up on the latest in neurology …and waited for her to return.

Still waiting, after having finished all of the articles in the magazines that interested me…I decided to see what else was in the bag she'd packed. She'd brought a couple of my casual shirts, some toiletries, and sweatpants; I took the opportunity to go into the bathroom and change into a pair of sweats and thick socks…while still wearing the hospital gown as a top. At least my ass wouldn't be hanging out anymore whenever I left the bed; something I was doing more and more of, as my strength returned and the parasites left my body. With the sweats, warmer socks, and the hospital slippers…I felt more comfortable now than I had at any time in the past few days since waking up from the biopsy. I decided I'd spend some time sitting in the chair that faced the window …listening to some soft music and watching the world outside for a while; when I heard the sliding door open and then close.

She came up behind me, placed both hands on my shoulders … idly massaging my skin as she quietly stood behind me. I met her eyes in the glass of the window, and we smiled at each other. All traces of her earlier tears were gone; her face looked as if she'd scrubbed it, and reapplied some of her makeup. I turned off my IPod, removing the earphones so that we could talk.

"What were you listening to?" she asked, as we both continued to look out of the window. I loved the feel of her hands on me, and I leaned my head against one of her arms before answering.

"Some John Coltrane, Buddy Guy--blues stuff." I answered, not knowing if she knew much about the music I'd grown up with. My father had a great collection of blues and jazz from all of the masters; and I made sure over the years to get digital copies of more and more of it, every time I was home.

"Mmm…Coltrane. I like his stuff, although I don't listen to it much anymore." I was surprised at learning yet another new thing about her; we liked some of the same music. The times we spent at her place writing the article, she'd usually just put the stereo on something softpop-ish for background sounds; neither one of us seemed to work best in totally quiet areas.

"Well, get ready to, if you're going to be hanging around me, girl," I murmured to her. She gave me a grin… reflected in the glass of the room window.

"Guess I'm going to get an education in blues and jazz, then – 'cause I'm _definitely_ hanging around." As she finished speaking, she'd leaned down and whispered that last part in my ear, making me tingle all over. She ran a couple of fingers lightly over one side of my neck as she did, and I couldn't help letting out the sigh that came to my lips.

"Hmm," she whispered, "are we a little sensitive there, maybe?" She was doing that deliberately; she _knew_ what her touches were doing to me. She had a sneaky, playful side to her; that was for sure. I had other things on my mind at that moment, though; namely, the way my body was reacting to her touches. She was caressing me, my skin vibrating wherever her fingers landed …it was relaxing and thrilling all at the same time.

"Alison, that's … playing mean … not fair, cause I'm still stuck here in the—mmmm--hospital ..." I tried to protest a little, to put up a little fight, at least; but she didn't stop. I felt her lean down again, and she wrapped her arms more tightly around my neck as she nuzzled my throat. I turned my head in her arms, and my lips found the space where her neck connected to her shoulder. She suddenly stilled; and then I heard her say, in a small, warm whisper; "Eric…" as she moaned against me.

I surprised her at that moment by breaking our pleasing contact; slowly getting to my feet and shuffling over to the bed, saying …"well, I guess I better get back to bed, before the nurse finds me roaming around …" giving Alison an evil grin--accompanied by an exaggerated yawn. I wasn't in the least bit sleepy; feeling in a playful mood, myself--and wanting to get back at her for what she'd been doing to me a few moments earlier.

She stood there in shock, watching me in amazement …her hands on her hips; and then, seeing the teasing look on my face, growled out … "You_ … you little_ … I ought to have you put in a full body cast for what you just did, you--stinker!" I was laughing by the end of her rant – the look on her face when she realized what I'd done, and now the slow smile that was fighting its' way to the surface of her face – was worth anything she decided to dish out to me.

Well …_almost_ anything.

I decided to keep her on the defensive a little longer, though, as I got back into the bed and arranged the covers over me, surrounding myself in an air of perfect innocence. Once I was comfortable, I gave her the same look I used to try on my mother when I was young, and had done something wrong. "_Me?_ What about you, and that little thing with the fingers on my neck? You _knew_ what you were doing – and to a sick man, too! Shame … _shame_ on you, Alison Cameron!" I shook my finger at her in what I hoped was my most scolding act; but I was starting to get a little concerned … because I could see little bolts of lightning in her eyes, along with the laughter and good (I hoped) humor. I probably wouldn't survive the next few minutes if the lightning took over, I mused.

She slowly shook her head at me …slowly approaching from the window as she held my eyes with hers. "I'm going to _get_ you for that, Eric--bet on it!" She came closer, stopping by the side of the bed--glaring down at me …and I wondered if she was going to exact her revenge then and there. She sighed, shook her head at me in mock exasperation, and sat down in her chair next to me; still laughing in her eyes, if not out loud …a sign I took as a reprieve from her wrath. Not being able to resist jerking her chain once more, I winked at her – which earned me another glare, mixed in with a playful smile.

"Did you get your locks changed?" she asked …reaching over to snag one of the earphones from me and placing it in her ear. She gave me a nod, and I turned the IPod back on. I watched her face as she settled back in the chair, crossing her legs while listening to the music, waiting for my reply.

"Yeah, I got it arranged. I can pick up the new keys tomorrow from the landlord's office when I get home." She nodded, and I could hear one of my favorite tracks playing through the earpiece she'd borrowed. I could tell she really liked it, too; she was humming softly along with the music, and I grinned …watching her face and body relax under the effects of good music. I loved just watching her, no matter what she was doing—or not doing, for that matter.

"This is something you can almost dance to," she added after a few more moments of listening. I watched her feet move to the rhythm.

"I would ask you to dance with me, but I'm still a little wobbly on my feet…" I shrugged apologetically; before a warm hand came over to briefly cover my lips.

"I know – and wonderful as the idea of dancing with you is, I definitely think we should wait until you have your feet beneath you. I don't want anything to spoil that, when it happens." Her smile was dazzling.

"Me, neither," I earnestly told her as she slowly took her hand away. Before she could draw it all the way back to her lap--I took it, gently kissed it, and then surrounded it with my own hand…settling both our hands to rest between us. She watched my lips touch her hand with a look of wonder and … more.

I wanted to kiss her so badly at that moment; jut not while still in a hospital bed. No--I wanted our first kiss to be someplace other than at the hospital, for some reason I wasn't quite sure of.

I wanted that moment, when it came, to be special. And there wasn't anything that felt special about PPTH right now; other than a reminder of the place where I'd almost died.

I wanted more distance between me and those thoughts, those memories …before I could feel completely right about kissing her. I knew that we would, and hopefully soon; but it had to be just _her and me_ there; not just a kiss in a hospital, surrounded by reminders of unpleasant things and times.

Lord help me, I _really_ wanted to kiss her.

I returned to the present, watching her watch me in the chair, her chair, by my bed; suddenly I felt her, _in my head_ … right before she spoke.

And I wasn't in the least prepared for what she said.

"You wanted to kiss me just now, didn't you?" she quietly asked. Stunned, I didn't reply at once; I just returned her inquiring look. I couldn't believe it. Finally regaining control of my voice, I whispered, "Yes."

She leaned closer to me, still holding my eyes with hers as she pulled the earphone away. "Why didn't you? I wouldn't have stopped you, if that's what you were thinking ...I wanted, _want_ you to kiss me, Eric …"

My heart flipped over a few times, as her words flowed over and through me …this beautiful woman, who could see me, _through_ me, so easily and clearly; wanted me to kiss her.

I swallowed a couple of times to loosen my tight, dry throat, squeezing her hand tight in mine before answering her.

"I do, too, Alison—believe me--but I want our kiss to be special; and it just doesn't feel that way, in this place, right now."

She looked away from me, around the darkening room …and sighed.

"Oh. I thought maybe …it was something about me that made you stop—" I stopped her right there.

"Alison, honey--look at me …" She was shocked and pleased, I could tell …at me calling her "honey;" _that_ felt right to me, at least. I waited until her blue-grey eyes met mine.

"There's nothing about you that keeps me from **wanting** to kiss you – trust me. You're beautiful, and sexy, and you are very important to me…I just want to do right by you this time…"

That was all I could say out loud at that moment; I knew we were both thinking about things that had happened in the still recent past between us, as well as our respective histories with relationships.

We were both willing to let the past stay in the past, but rushing too fast into the future wasn't a smart thing to do, either. I hoped she understood.

"I think I know what you're saying, Eric …and thank you for caring about me that much. I'll just have to …tamp down on these physiological reactions that I've been having …" she said, wryly, in a low and warm voice.

"_Tell_ me about it…" I said; in a clearly frustrated voice …which made her chuckle.

"Poor baby," she whispered; drawing chuckles from me.

The rest of the evening was spent with us just talking about a million different things. I told her about growing up where I did, and a little more about my family. We talked about our med school experiences, and she kept me in stitches with stories about her time as an intern at the Mayo Clinic; right before coming to work for House. I told her about my time at Johns Hopkins, and the intense competition and pressure of working there. We shared my dinner (Salisbury steak and scalloped potatoes; double-portioned, courtesy of the kitchen), and listened together to a lot more of the music from my IPod. A few hours later, I was stretched out, lying on my side facing her …starting to drift off; the medicines and the stresses my body had recently been under still keeping my overall energy levels low; when I heard her operate the bed controls …lowering the head so that I would be completely horizontal. The dinner having long been removed by the staff, it was getting later in the evening; and I knew I wasn't going to be able to stay awake much longer.

I wasn't quite sure of the time, but it was completely dark outside, and the hallways outside my room had long since quieted down for the night. My eyelids were drooping more and more, and I felt myself giving in to the sleep my body still needed for recovery.

I could feel Alison quietly stand, near the head of the bed …and I heard her turn off all of the lights except for the wall med panel that stayed on all of the time. When the ambient light from the room seemed about as dark as the space beneath my eyelids, I felt her lean over me, brushing her lips across my cheek.

"It's getting late, sweetie, and we should both get some sleep. I'm going to go, now--sweet dreams, and I'll see you in the morning, Eric."

I softly mumbled …drifting off in that half-haze between wakefulness and sleep; "you going to be OK driving home?"

I could feel more than see her smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me; just get your rest. I took you off of the last of the meds before dinner, but if you start to feel worse—the nurse is going to call me."

"Alison—" I wanted to protest; but she was determined. I knew she was tired, and needed some sleep as much as I did; no matter how she claimed otherwise.

"No, Eric—those are my orders, and you can't countermand them. I'm _still_ your doctor, remember; and I'll come back to check on you if I need to--so stop, already. Just, please; don't worry about anything. Get well, honey … and go to sleep."

"Mmmm…" was all I could give in answer; I was sinking fast, and I idly wondered before consciousness finally left, whether she'd slipped me something to help me sleep. It didn't matter at that point, though, because I was almost out.

She left, then …but not before kissing my forehead. I snuggled deeper into the covers and pillows …the last sound I heard was the sliding door opening and closing, as she left for the night.

The next morning broke bright and sunny, with only a few small clouds in the sky. I was standing in front of the window, watching the staff of the hospital enter and walk between the different buildings of the campus. I'd gotten up early; asked for and eaten my breakfast, and had cleaned up as much as I could … changing into another set of clothes Alison had brought for me the day before. I was wearing jeans, a long sleeve knit shirt, and running shoes that looked a lot like the ones House wore most of the time at work.

Hey, just because the man was a bastard, didn't mean he didn't know his footwear.

I'd been standing at the window for a while … my bag packed, and sitting on the bed. I guess people wouldn't believe, seeing me attentively study the activity outside the window …that I really _wasn't_ looking for one person in particular to come into the hospital.

I wasn't; at least, not entirely.

I'd already seen Cuddy, Wilson, and Chase arrive in their respective vehicles; Cuddy, from her reserved parking spot in the corner of the admin parking lot area just outside the front entrance; Wilson, not too far away as a department head in his own right; and Chase, from a more distant staff parking area.

The same one Alison and I usually used as well.

I promise, though …I wasn't paying too much attention to that area, watching out for a dark red Chevy Caprice four door sedan that I'd ridden in several times, for various reasons; car trouble, designated driving, going out on B&E missions on behalf of House and his crazy ideas, or even a couple of times coming home from a trip.

I hadn't seen her arrive yet, but I also knew that there were multiple approaches to the hospital grounds and she might have just decided to use a different—

"Looking for me?" a familiar, warm, comforting voice reached me where I stood by the window from the sliding doors of my room. The nurse had left the door open at my request; I wanted the sights and sounds of the world to reenter my consciousness again, after too long kept apart from the ebb and flow of this place. I smiled, slowly turning from the window to see her standing there watching me with an excited grin on her face.

"Hey, you…" I said.

"Hey, yourself," she replied, smiling wider at what had seemed to become our own 'personal' way of saying hello.

"You look like a man ready to take a wheelchair ride." She moved a little to the side, and I could see the wheelchair parked in the hallway next to her. I groaned out loud, as she chuckled.

"Alison…" I started; but she just shook her head.

"Eric--you know you don't really have a choice, so stop whining, please! I'm not going to watch you collapse on the grounds through some macho desire to prove something. In fact, you're not going to collapse _anywhere_ from now on – that's an order, mister!" She stood there, her arms crossed and ready to do battle with me if I deviated at all from the script for the morning she'd obviously already planned out in her head. I'd seen that look many times before on her face; when she set up a routine for herself, Alison Cameron wasn't a happy person when something (or someone) came along to disrupt it.

Anal, yes; but in a cute way, I thought to myself …grinning at her.

"What are you grinning like a Cheshire cat at me for, Eric Foreman?" she mock-threateningly asked me. In another few seconds, her foot would start tapping on the floor in annoyance.

"You. You're really pretty when you're all inside one of your head-plans." That was what Chase and I'd decided, in her presence one day, to call her "way" of doing most things.

She frowned a little--knowing I was teasing her, and not exactly happy about it. "It's not—oh, what's the use!" She threw up her hands in frustration, and walked over to where I still stood at the window …coming very close to me, and reaching for one of my hands. I surprised her by pulling her into a tight hug she immediately returned … resting her head on my shoulder and wrapping her arms around me. She felt so good against me…I closed my eyes, so that I could focus on nothing but her.

She'd dressed very casually; jeans, a dark short sleeve knit shirt, and a rope belt that looked like something out of the sixties. She wore running shoes like me, but these were decidedly feminine-styled shoes that were all-white. No socks, either; I saw her dainty ankles as she stood by the door.

My arms circled her waist more tightly, and I placed one hand on the spot where her back began its' curve into her waist, while the other was busy slowly rubbing her back. She sighed against me, and I heard a soft "mmmm" from her as we stood there.

"That feels good, Eric. By the way—good morning." she murmured softly, close to my ear. I answered back in the same voice, "Morning, Alison," and placed a kiss below her ear. I could feel her smile, and then she moved her arms upward, circling my neck as she pulled herself closer against me. I closed my eyes, and breathed in the scent of her freshly shampooed hair.

"Tell me we don't have to move at all for at least a few more minutes," I spoke quietly after a moment. She chuckled against me.

"You do want to leave the hospital sometime today, right?"

"Not at this particular moment, no …but there _will_ be other times for this, so …" I reluctantly pulled away from her a little, and she looked up, studying my face.

"Promise?" she said, smiling with the sun coming through the windows behind us …her arms still around my neck.

"Promise--scout's honor." I gave her a quick, jaunty two-fingered salute from an imaginary cap on my head, and she laughed.

"Were you _ever_ a Boy Scout, Eric?"

I slowly shook my head, trying to fight the grin that was making its' way to my face. "Well, no, but …" and she laughed even harder. "Still teasing me, huh?"

"You bet, girl. It's a great way to get those smiles you send my way. Better than any medicine!"

She actually blushed, shaking her head as she continued to meet my adoring gaze. "You're in a good mood this morning, sweetie."

"You're here, and I'm going home--it's already a perfect day." I earnestly told her, pulling her even closer. I liked feeling her heartbeat against my chest. She almost caused me to lose it entirely when she shifted her eyes away from my face, to my lips … and then, back up to my eyes again. I swallowed …my throat suddenly feeling a little drier than it had just a moment before. My own eyes were suddenly drawn down to her moist, inviting lips … and it took all my control not to give in to my desire.

Instead, I quietly cleared my throat, swallowing again, and then asked her, "Ready to leave this place?" I wanted to remind her that, just as I was going to have time off finishing my recovery, she would be resting as well. The realization entered her eyes at my meaning, and she nodded excitedly – causing me to chuckle at her reaction.

She knew exactly what I was thinking. "Oh, shut up, grab your bag, and plant your butt in the chair!' We finally, reluctantly broke apart from each other, and I moved to the bed to pick up my bag. She took my hand, and we headed for the hallway--and the wheelchair waiting for me. She lifted an eyebrow as I paused beside it, waiting for me to sit. I sighed in defeat, then sat down, putting my bag in my lap--feeling very much like some invalid, as she started wheeling me to the elevators.

"Goodbye, Dr. Foreman – get well, and come back to us soon!" The nurses at the floor station said as we passed them. I smiled and nodded, not quite sure what to say. I was glad when Alison--perhaps sensing my embarrassment--quickly got us onto the elevator, and pushed the button for the ground floor.

When the doors opened, I got a big surprise: the lobby was filled with doctors and nurses, and they all turned to us as we left the elevator …suddenly breaking out in applause. I was dumbfounded, as Alison wheeled me to the main desk area where Cuddy, Wilson, Chase, and House stood waiting … smiles on their faces (well, except for House). Cuddy had a sheaf of papers in her hand, and signed a few lines before handing them on a clipboard to me; my discharge papers. I signed the last page, and then Alison took them from me to sign as my physician, before handing them to the nurse behind the desk – who was smiling at me.

Cuddy kneeled down next to me, and put a hand on my shoulder. "Go home and take it easy, OK? Let me know if you need anything." She had a curiously sorrowful look on her face, and I knew right away that she was thinking of our shouting match while I was in isolation, and they were trying to figure out what was wrong with me. My mind leaped back to those terrible minutes, remembering the way that I'd screamed at her, accusing her of things I shouldn't have…and I grabber her hand.

"Cuddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean those—"

"Yes, you did, Eric--and you were right." I stared at her, and she returned it with equal strength.

"But so was I. And you'll never know how horrible that made me feel, especially if things hadn't turned out the way that they did." Her eyes were haunted with her decision; and even though I was certain she would do the same thing, given the chance … I also saw a little bit of how much her decision had cost her. I squeezed her hand once.

"If I ever get to run my own hospital, you're the example I'll be striving for, Lisa." A single tear left her suddenly watery eyes, and she stood up suddenly. "Oh, go on—get out of here, before I make you help out in the clinic." I laughed, as Alison smiled.

"And she would, too." House acidly commented. Cuddy quickly answered, "Shut up, House!"

Chase laid a hand on my shoulder. "I'll stop by with pizza and some good Australian beer in the next couple of days, if that's OK with you and your doctor," he said, glancing at Alison. "Sure," she told him, "as long as you don't put any damm anchovies on it."

Chase tsk-ed. "Such language!" She gave him a light punch on his shoulder.

"Give me a day or two to get settled, but yeah, that sounds cool, man. And—is there any such thing as 'good' Australian beer?" I teased. He just shook his head, his blonde wavy hair moving as the rest of us laughed.

Wilson was next, shaking my hand with one of his older-brotherly grins. "You fought like hell to beat that bug, Foreman – and made the medical journals, too--the first adult survivor of this particular parasite in the last twenty years in this country." I didn't care about any of that right now; I was just happy to have made it through. I just nodded, returning his handshake.

"We should get going, Eric. My car's out front," Alison spoke from behind me.

"What happened to my car?" I asked.

"That piece of junk?" House answered, before anyone else could. "The wombat and I got it moved over to your place a week ago—barely. I wouldn't be surprised if it's still there, untouched by car thieves. But then, _you'd_ know more about that than I would, Foreman," he said in an oily, sarcastic voice.

"Shut up, House!" Alison told him …her anger flowing into me from her close position, defending me. House just smirked.

"She's right; House – _shut up_--unless you want to make that _very short walk_ over to the clinic!" Cuddy threatened.

"Jeeze … must be someone's 'time of the month' around here." Before either Alison or Cuddy could respond, House poked me in the chest with his cane.

"You'd better take care of yourself, and come back ready to work – because you _will _be working your dark ass off when you get back--'bro'!"

I laughed; this was House's way of telling me he cared … as much as House could care about anyone else. I pushed his cane away from me, still smiling; but with a glint of anger in my eyes because of the way he'd treated Alison and Cuddy.

"Have fun in the clinic, House – and _don't_ call me, unless you want Alison or Cuddy finding out!" It was a perfect moment to leave, and Alison evidently agreed …because she immediately started wheeling me out of the lobby and through the sliding doors of the main building, towards her waiting car. I turned a little to look over my shoulder as she pushed me outside, followed by a nurse – who, I guess, was there to either make sure I got to the car OK, or to retrieve the hospital's wheelchair. I saw them all still standing there, watching me--even House--and I wondered at the looks on their faces.

"They all care about you, Eric—even House, in his own way," Alison's voice floated down to me …before we finally headed out to the sidewalk where she was double-parked. I stepped from the chair as she opened the front passenger door, standing for a second as the nurse who accompanied us took control of the chair, giving my arm a squeeze.

"Rest up, Dr. Foreman, and get well. We need you back here." She smiled, and then turned back towards the hospital, pushing the empty chair in front of her.

I'm not sure why, but I just stood there for a moment…thinking of everything and nothing at all …until Alison took my hand, giving it a squeeze. "Ready?" she asked, watching me carefully. I nodded, smiling at her before turning to slide into the front seat of her car, and pulling the seat belt around me as she closed my door after putting my bag in the back seat. I didn't even remember her taking it from me, my mind was so occupied.

She got in, started the car, and we headed away from the hospital, towards the part of town where I lived. I leaned my head back on the rest above my seat, and closed my eyes, reminding her, "I have to pick up my new keys from the office, Alison."

"I know, sweetie. Are you OK? Still feeling tired?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Just thinking about a million things right now, that's all." She reached over and took my hand in her free one …expertly steering the car with the other through traffic.

"I can imagine. You rest; we'll be home in a little while. I decided to do as she asked, keeping my eyes closed as we drove along. I could feel her glancing over at me from time to time, though, and I knew she was concerned at my change in mood. I didn't want to worry her; my thoughts could wait until later.

"What do you want to do for the rest of the day?" I asked her. She was quiet for a few moments.

"I'm not sure. I thought I'd let you nap for a while, if you wanted, while I went home after making sure you were settled. What are you thinking?"

"Why don't you stay at my place, and we can lounge around and watch TV for a while--just veg out; unless you wanted to do something else, or had other things planned…" my voice ending in a questioning tone. I wanted her to stay with me, but I didn't know what her plans were; or even if she'd thought much about it. She looked over at me and smiled.

"That sounds perfect to me. You sure you wouldn't rather be alone for a while? I know you haven't really had much time to yourself in the hospital…" Alison knew that I liked time to myself occasionally; it was a part of my nature that she understood, sharing that quality herself. At this point, though, all I wanted was to have her close, no matter what we were doing; or not doing.

"I'd really like it if you stayed, Alison. We don't have to find things to do, or anything like that. I think I just need to decompress this first day or two, and then see where I am afterward. And I would really love your company."

"Me too, Eric. So—is this our 'first date', then?"

"Not officially, girl. I want to be 100 back before taking you out," I told her – receiving a gigantic smile in return.

"You're such a sweet talker, Eric Foreman; do you mind if I pull over, so I that I can properly swoon?" We laughed.

"_Very_ funny," I told her. "Just keep driving there, 'Ms. Alison'; and keep the wisecracks down to a dull roar, if you please."

"Yassuh, 'Mr. Eric'", she replied in a thick Southern accent, and I reached over to jab her in the ribs.

"Hey! Watch the hands, mister! I _am_ trying to drive here, you know!" she protested with a smile and a laugh.

We continued our banter until we arrived at my apartment complex. I directed her to the management office where we picked up the new sets of keys I'd ordered, and I handed one set to her as we left. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "I want you to have a set of keys, Alison … for lots of reasons. But mostly, because I just want you to have them." We were standing a few yards outside the office, looking at each other.

"Thanks, Eric," she told me, clutching her set tightly as if she'd received a much-desired gift at Christmas. She took my hand, and we started walking again to my place. When we arrived, she went ahead and tried the door with her keys; they seemed to work perfectly. She let me enter first; stepping past the bag I dropped by the door before shutting it behind us.

I stood there in the middle of my living room, slowly glancing around at my place. My mail was neatly stacked on the coffee table, and the place looked as if it had been cleaned. I could smell cleaners in the fresh air I breathed …the usual scents and smells diminished or gone entirely. I turned to Alison with a raised eyebrow.

She gave me a little shrug.

"I came by a couple of nights ago, before the locks got changed, and straightened up a bit. I knew you'd be coming home soon, and I wanted to air the place out a little."

I slowly walked over to her, and gave her a tight hug. "Thank you; that was very nice of you."

"It was nothing, and I was happy to do it for you," she replied …a little breathless in our shared hug. We stayed that way for a few more moments, and then slowly broke away. I picked up my bag and headed for my bedroom, telling her as I walked down the short hallway to my room, "why don't you sit and see what's on TV?"

"Are you hungry? I could fix us something, or go and get some food; I know you had breakfast today, but they never really feed people the day they're being discharged, you know." she told my back as I walked down the short hallway to my room.

I stopped in my tracks after passing through the open doorway to my bedroom; the room looked spotless, and there were even fresh flowers in a little vase on my night table. Alison had trailed along behind me. She saw me looking at them, and then glancing back at her.

"Okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the flowers, but …"

She didn't get a chance to finish, because by then I'd closed the distance between us, and took her in my arms again. She didn't back away, or leave any space between us; her body molded itself to mine, and her arms found their way around me …drawing me even closer to her. One of her hands rose to caress the back of my neck, and she gazed at me with eyes that were inviting. I stared down at her, looking for – I don't know; permission, maybe, to do what I've wanted to do for a while now …to let myself flow along with my feelings. The light from her eyes didn't dim; if anything, it seemed to glow brighter …and I felt its pull on me.

Still looking in her eyes, I lowered my lips to hers.

Our first kiss was slow and passionate, mirroring the pace we'd been on lately as we drew closer and closer together …repairing our friendship, and discovering something much more along the way. I tasted the flavors of her mouth, and its' strength, too … she moaned as my tongue touched her lips, smiling through her kiss. Her own tongue was exploring, tracing the outlines of my mouth …and I gave myself over to her. Asking for entrance with my own tongue, she let me in at the same time hers slipped into mine. We tilted our heads in order to find just the right angle as our hands explored each other's bodies; sensual passes over clothes, but nothing too intimate just yet …both of us sensing that it wasn't the right time to just jump into bed and let our desires rule. Not yet.

I watched her face, looking for any sign of going too far …but all I saw were her eyes slowly, slowly closing … reminding me of flowers that close their petals at night. Her face looked so peaceful and relaxed; I marveled at her beauty, before her kisses drew my own eyes closed …giving her all of my strength, with barely enough left to stand; let alone see with open eyes.

Our kiss deepened, both of us mapping out the other's mouths with our tongues, our moans filling the air around us. Her body was giving off so much heat, I was sure that I could keep warm there forever. She pushed my shirt tail up in order to touch my bare back, bringing even more moans from me as she massaged my waist and spine. I felt her raise herself up a little on her toes in order to get even closer to my mouth; she was a few inches shorter than my own 6'1" height, but it wasn't keeping her from searching for ways to draw as close to me as she could.

The movements of her body against mine, and my reactions to them …were sending us closer and closer to the edge of reason and into passion … and even as I was kissing her as if the air I needed to live came only from her, a part of my brain told me that one of us needed to slow the pace, or pause - if possible. Then, both of her arms came up around my neck, and I struggled to remember who or where I was …when suddenly I sensed her pull away. Her lips left mine in a rush, and we were both left breathing heavily …trying to regain some semblance of control. Her hands slid to my chest, as if to push me away from her; but she was still within my arms, and I couldn't command them to release her.

We stood there; as she laid her head on my chest directly over my jackhammer-beating heart …the only sound in the room our heated breathing. I rested my chin on the top of her head, turned sideways so that there were no obstructions for my mouth and nose to draw in air. I felt light-headed; as if I'd just run up several flights of stairs. I heard her, through the rushing in my ears, try to speak.

"Oh, wow…" was all she could get out, finally opening her eyes again …looking up at me.

I met her look, shaking my head. "That was…" I gasped.

"…amazing," she offered, with a smile.

"I was thinking incredible, but that will work, too." I told her, and watched as she softly giggled. I just stared at her.

"What?" she quietly asked …holding my intense look with her own.

"I've …wanted to do that for a while now …but I never imagined that it would be like this. I hope I didn't shock you."

She shook her head, a wry grin making its' way to her flushed face.

"No, you didn't, Eric. Nothing happened that I didn't want to happen. The 'shock' was our managing to stop when we did. I was … close … to completely letting go, and I think you were, too…"

"Yes," I agreed. I'd found more of my voice, and my breathing was slowly returning to normal. I still held her in my arms.

"--which is why I stopped," she continued. "We're obviously physically attracted to each other; but you were right, before. We shouldn't do this just because we _can_; it should happen when it's the right time for both of us. And this … isn't that time. You just got home, you're still recovering … and we need to spend more time together, exploring this new relationship we have."

"I know … we both need a normal relationship, without compromising anything in our lives…" She nodded, still watching me.

"Are you OK, honey?" she tenderly whispered …reaching up with a hand to gently touch my face and trace her fingers over my skin, which drew shivers from me. She sure wasn't making this 'control' thing easy.

"Yes. Yes, I am…I just want you to hear something."

"What?"

"You're beautiful, and sexy, and not a half-bad doctor, too!" She gasped; smiling and laughing …and then punched me on my shoulder.

"--ow!" I complained, rubbing the place where her knuckles met my skin under my shirt.

"Thank you. You're handsome, _very_ cute … and if you have _any _more smart-aleck remarks to make--it's bread and water for you tonight!' Giving me one of her most threatening looks, I (smartly, I thought) backed down. Raising my hands in surrender, I winked at her – causing her to narrow her eyes. After a few seconds of waiting to see if I had anything else to say, she glanced at the bed with what looked like …regret, sighed, and then turned back to me.

"We should … go someplace a little less – tempting, I think. Are you tired? I was thinking we could go and get something to eat; or we could just stop by the store to get some food for this place. I'd like to make us dinner tonight, if that's OK with you … but if you're tired, I can just go get food while you rest?.." Waiting for me to answer, she grabbed my hand and we walked out of the bedroom back into the living room where we'd left our jackets and her purse.

"I'm not tired," I told her, and she smiled. "I _am_ hungry, since breakfast was pretty light this morning; and my body _has_ been stressed very recently," I said, my voice subtly changing to something a little more seductive – and was quietly pleased when she blushed, "so let's just go somewhere – anywhere. I've been cooped up in that hospital room for almost two weeks, and I need to stretch my legs a little. We can go by the store after having a nice …" I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was very late in the morning, "lunch. My treat, since you're determined to make dinner. Deal?"

"Sounds good to me," she agreed. "Where would you like to go for lunch?"

"There's a nice diner not too far away from here – they have great food, and lots of it. The supermarket's not far away from it, either. A couple of things, though…" I paused, and she gave me a questioning look.

"Would you mind driving? I feel really good, but let's not take any chances right away. I want to get my legs more under me before I get behind the wheel again."

"I think that's very smart, Eric -- and I would love to drive."

She was secretly happy that he didn't seem to be one of those guys who always insisted on doing all the driving. Alison happened to enjoy driving quite a bit; even on long trips … something she hoped she could show him, at some time in the future.

They got their jackets and she retrieved her purse from his small kitchen table where she'd left it, and they walked through the front door …locking it behind them. As they started walking back to her car, she asked him, "What was the other thing?"

He looked over at her, smiled, and reached over to take her hand. She returned his smile with one of her own, and her heart floated in her chest as they walked along…holding hands. A part of her wondered how he'd feel about public displays of affection when they were out. Alison was by nature a very tactile person, and enjoyed physical contact with people she cared for.

Apparently …between the kisses they'd just shared, and his large warm hand surrounding hers … that wasn't going to be an issue.

So far, I thought to myself as Alison and I reached her car, where she'd parked it next to my clunker …this was turning out to be an incredible day. I'd made it out of the hospital and back home, with the girl I've steadily grown to care for more and more at my side. We'd shared an incredible first kiss that left both of us stunned with its' intensity …and excited about our future together. I could see that in her eyes whenever she looked at me, as well as sense it in her heart as easily as I could feel it in mine.

Sitting next to her in the car as we drove to the diner, my mind kept coming back to one thought, one feeling. I didn't know quite how, or what it meant for us …but I felt myself falling for Alison Cameron.

**END OF PART FIVE**


	6. Chapter 6

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 6 – Cameron"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None (well …unless you leave this story next to the cheese; in which case, your kitchen won't smell as sweet).

**Author's Note:** I basically watched the two-part House episodes, "Euphoria", with my mouth open in shock. It's rare that you see people act their asses off on a TV show like pretty much everyone on House did during those two episodes, and it got me to thinking. What would happen to Cameron and Foreman's relationship afterward? Would they discover things about themselves, and each other, after everything they'd gone through? Stress and pain can ruin lives, yes …but sometimes, it can also release those "locks" we sometimes place on ourselves, and let us see possibilities we wouldn't have seen before. That's the basic theme of this story.

**Reviewers:**

"**gatermage": **Hello! Yes, I think it's going well so far, and I'm glad to see you agree. I had _no doubt_ I could make it work – this is about a relationship between two people, after all. Nothing particularly unique about it; unless you mean that you just can't see these two particular people together. And as far as them moving too fast; well, I've noticed that when people generally write about interracial relationships or romances, the characters jump into bed a little **too** quickly; as if it's all about the sex, and not the relationship. I guess I'm trying to write something different here, while still showing the passion that's there between them. Hope you continue to stay with the story, to see how it goes!

"**damnselle":** Thank you! bowing My first time writing a story with romance in it! I have tried to keep them in character; however; as others have noted, I've made Cameron a little stronger, and more self-possessed than the way she's portrayed (or written) on the show. I just can't see her that way. Please keep reading, and commenting!

"**mcoiex":** Wow … your review left me stunned! Thank you very much. I'm just so fascinated by these characters, and this show, that I think a lot about the people they are, and represent. I try to "climb into their heads," so to speak – and then bend them to my will! LOL I'm with you –- it was a little embarrassing _writing_ their first kiss scene! But, I got through it OK! I'm definitely going to continue, and as far as what kinds of things I'm going to have them deal with, well … I've always heard that good writing almost always involves conflict of some kind with your characters. So, that's a clue – hopefully to get you to keep reading, and reviewing! Thanks again!

**CAMERON**

If you asked me to choose …which memory would I pick to tell you about first?

Of all the great thoughts, feelings, and memories I've shared with Eric these past couple of days, I don't think I could give you just one that first comes to mind. Of course, most people would immediately think that our first kiss--the one that's still curling my toes, even now--as we sit in a booth at the Sunset Diner, not far from his place; yes, maybe that one would be most folks' choice.

It was easily one of the best kisses I've had in my entire life, but it didn't lead to lovemaking; which kind of makes it all the more sensual and exciting, in a weird way. For two people to kiss like that, a few inches from a bed, and not take it to the next level; well…we get the prize for self-control, at least.

Don't get me wrong—we both wanted to, if our bodies had anything to say about it. Another few seconds of his mouth on mine, his large soft hands running all over my body, the signs I 'felt' of his desire for me …and we would have ended up in his bed.

Sigh.

But it might have ruined something that's been, so far, so wonderful and right. This new--what? Beginning? Rebirth? I don't know exactly what you'd call it. We've just …started over, completely. Clean slate. No plusses or minuses on the board; just two people getting … what?

Our second chance.

We've having lunch at this diner, a place I've never been to before; but that Eric obviously has, many times. The hostess greets him by name, and takes us to what's apparently his favorite booth. He actually introduces me to her when we come in, a little bit of a surprise, but which really shouldn't be at all. Ever since I've known him-- even through our rough patch over the article--there's always been, I don't know … a fundamental decency about Eric. Not only in the way he'd been with me up until the article, but with everyone he was around. It was one of the things I liked best about him, that part of him that always greeted people with care and respect, the part that held my chair for me, or held my coat … or made sure I was safe going home after work, or on those few times we were out in public together. A thousand little things that endeared him to me; that all seemed to change, when he did over our article. Yes, I'd grown to hate him after a while …but you know what's strange? I feel certain that if I'd ever been in trouble, and he was the one I called for help -- even in the middle of all of that – somehow I know he would have come to help me.

I'm not sure if I'd say the same thing about House, or Chase; which makes it even stranger …since my boss was the one I've been pining over all these months …and I also knew that Chase has always had a thing for me.

Which is the real reason he hardly resisted, when he was faced with an Alison who was actively seducing him; even in her drugged-out state at the time.

If nothing else, this …thing …with Eric has brought my dysfunctional relationship with House into stark focus. I'm sitting here, in this diner with a great guy -- and wondering how I could ever have developed the feelings I did for House.

Maybe House had been right during our one and only "date"; I only thought I liked him because I thought of him as 'broken,' and I thought I was the one that could 'fix' him.

Yeah …dysfunctional, all right.

I'm playing with my food, pushing my salad around on my plate …thinking about all of it, when I feel Eric's warm hand touch mine.

"Hey—that carrot's getting tired of your mercy. It deserves a quick death, don't you think?"

I look at him and smile … something that's easier and easier, the more we spend time together. I still can't believe how happy I feel around him; especially when I remember that, three weeks ago, I was cursing his name to anyone who would listen.

And almost two weeks ago, now … he'd come very, very close to dying.

"Are you OK?" he asked in a concerned voice. His brown, expressive eyes met mine. "You seem really pensive. Don't like this place, or the food?" He'd torn into his lunch of perch fish, country potatoes, and corn with a vengeance. I was still working on my salad; the meatloaf entrée next to it untouched so far. I'd rested my head in one palm; using my other hand to play with my food while I wrestled with my thoughts. Once again, he'd read my mood without effort, sending his concern along with his care for me through the link we were developing between us. I felt better because it, and he, was there with me. I hoped that my tendency to find myself in codependent relationships didn't turn Eric into a crutch for me.

I don't think I could ever forgive myself if we ended up that way, because of my problems with relationships. Instead of dwelling on that particular depressing thought, I turned my hand over, using the fingers he was stroking with his to wrap around his, adding an "I'm fine" smile to what I was telling him through our contact.

"I'm fine, I guess. And I do love this place, and the food. Just …thinking is all." He studied me for another moment as the waitress came by to refill our drinks.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, leaning closer. I saw concern and care in his face, and…not wanting to worry him, smiled and touched his hand again – giving a small shake of my head as an answer. Lately, I couldn't seem to stop touching him whenever I got the chance; I knew that I'd have to get that need under some kind of control when we went back to work. For now, though, touching him was like …breathing. Natural, and very much desired.

"Maybe later, honey," I told him. "It's nothing, really—just going over everything that's happened lately in my mind. You know me; I tend to over-process everything. I'm sorry for spoiling the mood." I squeezed his hand again, giving him a wry grin that he quickly returned.

"You aren't spoiling anything, Alison. Just remember that I'm here to listen when you need to share those thoughts rattling around in that beautiful head of yours." I quietly watched him for a moment as he gave me a wink before returning to his food …his fork expertly carving up the perch he'd ordered. I put my own fork down, sat back …watching him for a moment.

"How do you do that?" I whisper, even though I know he's giving me his full attention and would hear anything I said, even in this busy diner. He looked up at me with a gleam in his eyes.

"What--cut my fish? The technique's been in my family for generations—want me to teach you?" He was laughing, teasing me again; and I absolutely loved it when he did that. Of course, sometimes his teasing was meant, among other things, to break me off of my mental "track" sometimes, like now …along with just the pleasure he got at the pure tease itself.

It was one of the things I'd missed most, back when we were barely speaking to each other …when I'd go home after a whole day of all of the negative emotions flowing from him crashing against me like a sea storm; crying tears of loss …the loss of something I couldn't even describe. But now, that 'something' was slowly becoming clearer to me.

"No, smartass," I threw back with a grin; "you speak just one sentence to me, and my mind immediately clears. How do you do that?" I suddenly realized that he'd always had that effect on me—whether we were in the Diagnostics offices discussing (or arguing about) treatments, working with our patients, in the lab running tests; or even writing a paper together—I always carefully listened to him whenever he spoke, and whatever he said. He has an exceptional mind—you don't get to work at a place like Johns Hopkins, and then for someone like House, without one—but his is a worldly intelligence; not arrogant, or distant – except during that period when we'd been enemies.

He pauses, putting down his fork; meeting my curious, intent look with one of his own.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Alison …but if you're talking about any effect I have on you, well; it goes both ways. I always feel—" and he paused, glancing out of the windows to watch the passersby, before turning back to me, "When you're around me, I feel more, I don't know …'finished' is the only word I can come up with right now. _I've_ always wanted to ask _you_ how _you_ do that." My eyes grew wide at hearing this from him.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I asked in a quiet voice, suddenly thinking about all of the time we've both wasted. He shrugged, glancing down at our hands that had strayed closer, almost touching across the booth table.

"I never felt like we'd gotten close enough, for me to feel comfortable enough with you to bring it up. And then, there's House…" He broke eye contact with me, looking down at his food. I see the uncertainty appear on his face, and, knowing as I do Eric's familiarity with my unrequited feelings for our boss, I pause; gathering my thoughts in order to answer in a way that would make sense for both of us.

I knew this topic would come up, sooner or later—these feelings I have—had--for our boss. I wanted—needed— Eric to be honest with me about his feelings; I couldn't ask him to risk his heart …without being willing to go as far myself.

I took a deep breath.

"You know--everyone's known--how I've felt about House. Trust me, Eric--there were times when I wondered where it was all coming from. I guess I had a …different set of motives for my reactions than I'd thought at first; and something House said to me when we went out …sort of helped to define it for me."

"You went out with him?" Eric was incredulous; his eyes as wide as saucers. He didn't—no one except Wilson knew--about all of the circumstances surrounding my coming back to work at the hospital and for House. It wasn't something I'm particularly proud of, and decided I wouldn't tell either he or Chase all of the details.

That needed to change with Eric, now; no matter how embarrassing it felt.

"Yes. It was around the time I came back to work—it's not really important anymore. The thing is, Eric—that's over. No more interest--whatsoever. I'm done with that, it really wasn't like me to get into a situation like that in the first place. Just asking for trouble, really, when you think about it. That's the truth."

He sat back, studying me; not saying anything, or reacting, in any significant way. After a few moments, I was starting to get nervous; when he finally responded.

"It's not over, Alison. Not for him, at least. I see it every time he looks at you, or when he looks at you if he doesn't think anyone's noticing." Eric's voice was controlled, and distant. I looked in his eyes, and knew what he was thinking; as I'd been able to do more and more lately. It was uncanny; but good. Except, maybe, for now; he was clearly wondering what House's carefully hidden attraction for me meant for us.

Yes, I knew what House feels about me; that was one thing he could never hide, or joke away, or dismiss when he thought it was appropriate. Maybe that's what kept me on that path with him; my certain knowledge about how he felt. I don't know. As far as I was concerned, it no longer mattered. I looked in Eric's eyes.

"None of that matters anymore, Eric. Please believe me. Whatever he …feels, it doesn't matter—except to him."

We sat there, gazing at each other …'communicating' in the easy, quiet way that we've discovered lately …with no shades or sharp corners between ourselves. I didn't hide anything from him as he searched my eyes; and as I knew he hadn't with me. I haven't been at this place, this level of honesty, with anyone in a long time; not since my husband passed away.

It was scary, intimidating--and oddly comforting, all at once.

That's how I knew the man sitting across from me was someone special. HE brought me to this place; it was with Eric that I felt strong and safe enough, to reveal myself this way. With House, it was always the GAME; what pieces were on the board, and what moves were being made in pursuit of the goal – always his goal.

I never wanted that, the game-playing …and didn't want to deal with it anymore. I wanted to just be myself with someone, someone who I could trust and feel safe with.

I'd recently gone through a period where I couldn't trust Eric Foreman. That difficult time was, hopefully, forever in the past.

But I'd never felt, at any time that I've known him … that I wasn't safe, or couldn't be myself, around him.

And that certainty spoke volumes to me, about Eric. I knew he wasn't perfect. He had a talented doctor's ego, and could show a mean streak sometimes. Eric was very familiar with being 'cutthroat', when he thought it was necessary.

All of that, you could say about most men, and all people; myself included.

I'd finally, completely, forgiven him for the article; and more importantly, for hurting me the way he did. For making it impossible for me to like being around someone whom I'd always felt safe with. _That_ was one of the things that had made me so upset; I didn't want to lose that feeling with him, and couldn't figure out WHY I was losing it. Then he got sick, and for a while … there was nothing between us, but ugly, raw emotions -- and a growing despair.

Despite all of that …we managed to come through it all, to reach the other side.

And I still felt safe around him. I knew it; when I was watching over him, waiting for him to wake up. I wanted to be there for him, because something told me he'd have been there, for me -- if it had been me who'd been deathly ill, instead of him.

And I think …I would have made him _my_ proxy, as well. Someday, I'll tell him that.

He started speaking again…idly playing with the remainders of his potatoes, the same hesitant way I'd been trying earlier, with my salad.

"I believe you, Alison. And I'm not going to worry about it anymore -- so you shouldn't, either" he told me …reaching over to take my hand in his, a wide, strong smile for me on his face. I slowly shook my head, returning his smile … while squeezing his hand in mine.

My god -- I think …I'm really falling for him.

He asks me if he should call over the waitress over to our booth, to have her heat up my meatloaf for me--and I shake my head, starting to eat the rest of my food … my heart feeling tons lighter than just a few minutes ago. Twenty minutes later, we're finished; he's gotten the check and paid the bill …we're heading back to my car, for the drive over to the supermarket. As we were getting ready to leave, our waitress had asked, as she took Eric's credit card to pay for the meal, how long we'd been a couple; it seemed to her, she told us, that we'd been 'together for quite a while'. Eric and I just looked at each other, smiling …before Eric replied, as he was holding my jacket for me;

"Not long enough for me, ma'am."

She nodded, patting him on his shoulder. "Good man." Eric just stood there, preening like a proud peacock; waiting for me as I gathered my purse and keys; while all I could think about was what he'd said. I took his arm as we left the diner. Feeling lighter than air with my thoughts and feelings, I laid my head on his shoulder as we walked the short distance to my car, and he held my door open for me as I got in and started the engine.

After he'd gotten in, settled in the passenger seat next to me, and put his seatbelt on -- I quickly leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked; grinning like he had no idea at all -- the little stinker.

"For what you just said to that woman -- and for being so wonderful," I quietly told him, before pulling out of the parking lot of the diner, turning in the direction of the supermarket he'd given me directions to.

"Oh, you're just a big softie," he told me, laughing as I gave him one of my 'thousand yard' stares between checking mirrors, as we eased into traffic.

"Eric—does the phrase 'bread and water' mean anything to you?" I asked, sweetly -- keeping my eyes on the road, while trying to fight off a giggle.

He cleared his throat. "Keeping quiet now, Alison--ma'am," was his only answer. I finally lost it; the look on his face released the floodgates, and I laughed -- joined in by him a second later.

"That's better," I admonished, after we'd both regained some semblance of control. He just sat there, grinning while watching the traffic around us. We were on one of Princeton's major streets, with lots of company during the early afternoon. I wondered where everyone was heading; it seemed like more people were out driving than could be chalked up to just the lunch crowd. It took another twenty minutes or so to reach the market; normally, I think it would have taken half the time.

We parked, and Eric took my hand again as we headed into the store … snagging a cart along the way. "Let's see – why don't I get the staples and the other things I'm out of, while you get what you need for tonight – okay?" I nodded, wondering out loud whether we should get separate carts. "Everything's on me, dear – you're graciously cooking tonight, so I'm happy to pay." I started to protest, but he shook his head.

"Sorry – my still-scattered mind's made up. You can catch the next meal, if you want – those are MY orders!"

I stopped in our stroll down one of the store aisles, releasing his hand in order to fold my arms across my chest, mock-glaring at him. "How long have you been waiting to say that to me?" He looked up at the ceiling, as if he was contemplating the universe or something. At that moment, I wished I had a nice large vegetable in hand to clobber him with; he was enjoying this a little _too_ much. "Oh, a looong time!" He gave me a wink, which I answered with another pointed glare and raised eyebrows. Pointing down the aisle, I told him, "Start marching -- before I throw something at you!" He held up his hands, and then slipped them in his pockets -- whistling as he preceded me down the aisle, leaving me to push the cart.

I was really going to have to get him back for all of this.

Trying my best not to show him how much I was enjoying our time together, in case he really did think I was a "softie", we gradually collected the things we both needed. Eric also picked up a lot of what he called good "movie" foods for later, which reminded me to get some ice cream – butterscotch. He smiled when he saw my choice, and reached in the freezer himself, once he'd located what he was looking for - mint chocolate chip flavored ice cream.

"The **best **ice cream _ever_," he said, with a too-cute, lopsided smile …dropping three pints into the cart as I bemusedly watched. Having my own personal opinions on this particular subject, I decided to share.

"I don't think so – that would have to be pecan pralines – too bad they don't have any, or you'd be buying me a gallon or two, my friend! As it is, I'll go with the second-best _ever_– butterscotch!" I told him, noticing our reflections in the glass of the freezers we were parked in front of. We looked like a couple, I thought; both of us standing very close together, next to the quickly filling cart we both had our hands on, both taking turns steering. Eric was studying the image as well … and our eyes met in the reflection; matching grins appearing on our faces. He laid a hand on top of one of mine; resting on the top metal bar of the cart frame. I slid my fingers through his, in order to maintain as much contact with him as I could. That was how we finished our shopping; neither of us very far from the other; even when we were pulling items off of shelves, or standing in front of the meat and fish counters being waited on by the store staff; some of whom gave us curious looks.

There were three elderly ladies in front of us at the fish counter where I needed to get some nice salmon for the baked fish dinner I was planning for the dinner I was making for both of us … brazenly watching us as we chatted. I noticed that they seemed to be giving each other looks, as they each studied us in turns. I was starting to wonder if we'd get any sort of nasty comment from these very traditional-looking women before too long; when one of them turned to Eric and told him, "You have a very lovely wife, young man. And your ring is just lovely, dear."

Eric and I froze at that exact moment, our mouths hanging open for what seemed like five minutes, as we tried to answer. We glanced at each other, trying to come up with a reply that would make sense. We were too shocked, I suppose, to even consider just telling the truth; a result of spending too much time around House, I suppose. I was wearing one of my prized possessions; a ring my grandfather had given my grandmother, after he'd returned from Europe as a soldier during World War II. It was a precious, treasured heirloom; and it also looked perfect as a wedding ring, as well. Eric was wearing a heavy gold band on his finger; I knew it was a class ring from Johns Hopkins, but it was plain-looking enough for a man to wear – and to pass as a wedding ring, as well.

All of this we realized as we continued to trade looks between each other, the women who were all smiling while politely waiting for us to answer; and the fish counter guy – who'd been watching and listening as he worked. I still couldn't think of anything to begin an answer with, when Eric suddenly smiled, and started speaking.

"Well, thank you, ma'am. She's the most beautiful woman I know – other than you three, of course!" All three women literally started cackling, throwing their heads back in laughter while the counter guy grinned at Eric. I was still speechless; both at the initial question, and how Eric had decided to answer it. I turned to look at him, my mouth still slightly hanging open … and he very gently closed it with his palm, and a chuckle … all the while holding my gaze with a deep look that took all of my thoughts away.

"You'll have to excuse my wife Alison, ladies – she gets a little flustered when people comment on her beauty when we're in public. It's one of the millions of things I love about her, and why I fell so hard for her."

"She certainly is quite lovely," another of the ladies spoke up. "The story of how you met must be something, hmm?" She was obviously the most brazenly curious of the trio, because the other ones threw her warning looks. "You'll have to excuse Alice, sir," one of them said. "She's a bit too excited about getting into other people's business …"

"I am not!" Alice protested – half-heartedly, with a glint in her eyes. "All I said was that they must have a great story – they seem so much in love, I'm sure the way it started must be just wonderful!" she indignantly protested to her shushing friends; who then turned as one to us; waiting for the story. The fish guy continued to pay more than his share of attention to us, as well. "Oh, just great!" I thought to myself; while also trying to decide how to hide Eric's body later, for putting us in this situation.

As it turns out, he wasn't quite finished with his playing around.

"Well, I'd known her for a while, now – we're both doctors, and we work at the same hospital, you see." The three women nodded, giving Eric encouraging looks. The look I was giving him, though, couldn't quite be called 'encouraging'. I felt my cheeks start to redden, hoping Eric wouldn't take little joke of his too far.

"Ever since the first time I saw her, I knew that I wanted her in my life."

I stood there in shock, staring at him in astonishment. I barely noticed any of the growing crowd of people around us as he continued … a completely serious, earnest look on his face, as he occasionally glanced back and forth between me and the group of ladies in front of us.

"We became friends as well as colleagues -- and then I did something really stupid and hurtful, something I had no right to expect her to forgive me for. Things were very bad between us for a while, and I have to tell you all – I've never felt so bad in my entire life."

My eyes dropped from Eric's face, to the tops of my sneakers … not able to meet anyone's eyes; least of all, Eric's … because at that moment, the anguish and pain in his voice was the same that had just appeared in the center of my own heart. I didn't want to relive any of that time ever again; why was he doing this? A couple of tears dropped unbidden from my eyes, and then I felt Eric's arm wrap around my waist. I couldn't do anything else but turn my head into his shoulder.

Everyone around us listening were as quiet as church mice … listening to Eric pour his heart out, there in the middle of the supermarket.

"Then recently, I became very ill, and I ended up as a patient in the same hospital I worked in. No one could figure out, at first, what was wrong with me. I was getting worse and worse by the hour. Instead of keeping her distance, Alison fought like a tiger to save me. And she almost single-handedly did. She's the reason I'm here talking to you."

Even with my head turned away from them, I could hear sniffles coming from the women in front of us. I sensed Eric looking down at me, carefully watching for my reaction … while our link and his touch gave me support and strength. I had never heard him speak like that before, in a voice I hardly recognized as his. Full of gratitude, certainty, and passion … it enveloped me as his arm did, in a cushion of …love.

I didn't understand exactly why he was doing this, but I knew that feeling, having been there once or twice before in my life. I looked up at him, through teary eyes …into his quiet, open, loving ones; and a shudder raced through me. He pulled me even tighter, and then continued talking.

"I didn't fall for her because she saved me; well, not entirely, that is," he told the smiling group of people around us … which by then had swelled to about ten people. "I fell for the beautiful person she is, and I'm lucky she tolerates me as much as she does." Everyone broke out laughing at Eric's suddenly teasing turn of voice; me included. My face was wet from crying. I was still in shock, though … not quite believing this was happening.

I was 'rescued' by the fish guy, who had – while listening to the story – finished with the ladies' orders, and gave them their wrapped packages. They took them, thanking him … and then turned back to us.

"We're so glad we ran into you folks today. That was a lovely story, and we wish you both the very best," said the third woman who, until then, hadn't spoken. "Have a great day!" Eric and I thanked them as they turned to go, and then the fish guy asked what he could get for us.

I'd finally found my voice again, after first quickly kissing Eric on his cheek – and almost laughing at the relieved look he gave me; apparently thinking I was going to hit him or something.

"I'd like four of the salmon, please. The ones in the back …" I told him … pointing to the ones I meant.

"Yes ma'am. Just came in this morning. And, can I say - that was a wonderful story. Thanks for sharing it with everyone." I gave him a bright smile, as Eric thanked him for the now wrapped fish that he carefully placed in our cart. "Thank you." He took my hand, nodded at the people in line behind us, and pulled me along … grabbing the front of our cart with his other hand, gliding it alongside us. I continued to look at him, slowly shaking my head.

"I don't know whether to _slug_ you, Eric Foreman … or ravish you right here in the aisle!" He laughed loudly, continuing to hold my hand as we headed to the bakery.

"Do I get a vote?" I suddenly stopped; jerking him close, and watching a shocked look come over his face. He sobered up, looking down at me as I studied him.

I dropped his hand from mine, which brought a look of concern to his eyes – that lasted all of a second, as I slowly raised my hands to his face, drawing him closer and kissing him deeply, right there in the middle of the aisle we'd stopped in. His hands found their way inside my jacket, between it and my waist … his strong forearms pulling me to him. He was the first to come up for air, and placed small kisses along my neck, to my shoulder. I groaned against him, closing my eyes as his lips sent me reeling and flying at the same time. I breathed heavily against his neck, where I'd settled my head while he attended to my neck with his soft lips … and felt him shiver. Chuckling softly, I finally placed some space between us … finding his eyes with mine. We stood there, people maneuvering their carts around us, for a minute or two; just looking at each other. I glanced back the way we'd come, and noticed the fish guy watching us with a grin. Winking at him, I took Eric's hand, and this time grabbed our cart myself … starting to walk the aisles, with Eric close at my side.

"We'd better finish up soon, love – this place has a lot of aisles!" Eric whispered to me, and I playfully slapped his shoulder …my heart doing sudden flips at hearing him call me "love".

"Behave -- or you can do the cooking tonight!" I told him, grinning from ear to ear … unable to put much of a threat in my voice.

"All right, all right … settle down!" he groused. "What kind of bread do you like?"

A half hour later, we were in my car, heading back to his place … the back seat filled with groceries. It looked like we were planning on a lot of meals; there was enough food to last both of us the entire week. I didn't think about it for long, though; I was thinking about Eric's 'story' of us at the supermarket, and also what he'd called me as we were heading to the bakery. He called me "love". No one had ever called me that before; not even my husband, who liked calling me "Ally". I never had the heart to tell him that I didn't much care for that form of my name; it was pretty much all I heard growing up and in school. I was glad, then, that Eric hadn't used that form of my name in all the time we'd known each other, and especially lately.

It made me insanely happy, instead, when he called me "love".

"You're pretty quiet over there," he spoke from his seat next to me, and I shook myself … switching from automatic driving mode to the present moment at the sound of his deep voice. "You aren't mad at me for that story, are you?" he asked.

I glanced over at him, and then turned back to the road. I turned on my turn signal, changed lanes, and then gave a shake of my head before answering.

"No, Eric. I'm not mad – of course not. I was just … blown away. I can also see how they mistook us for a married couple, the way we were behaving. I just -- I've never heard you speak like that before. It made me cry, and very happy, all at the same time. Thank you, sweetie." For that, I got a kiss on the cheek that my body anticipated before I did; I'd started leaning closer to him as I spoke, without even realizing it. His warm lips found my skin, and my smile grew deeper as he nuzzled my cheek before we finally straightened up … and before a traffic cop pulled us over or something.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked. I felt his gaze on me as I concentrated on driving. Having seen too many results of traffic accidents, I was determined to get us home in one piece –- or, the ice cream, at least.

"Sure; anything. You know that." I had an encouraging smile on my face.

"I …really love it when you …call me 'sweetie'. I heard you call me that while I was still in the coma, I think."

The steering wheel jerked in my hand at hearing that. I quickly straightened the wheel as I tried to find my voice. I knew that coma patients heard ambient sounds and people's voices as long as there was normal brain activity, but …

"Um …you did?" was all I could give in reply. I felt more than saw his little grin at my command of our native language. One more thing to add to the "get Eric back" list, I decided.

"Yes," he quietly replied. "That; and my dad's voice, and prayers. Those two things told me I was going to be OK."

I was shaken a little; Eric had placed my voice at the same level as his dad's; as if they were equal in importance. I was sure that hearing his dad's voice offered more comfort to him; after all, at that point in time, things weren't the way they were between us now.

"I know what you're thinking," he continued in a quiet voice …staring ahead out of the windshield at the cars in front of us. "You think I got more support from my dad's presence, than yours. Especially given what was still in the air between us. That sounds right; and it did help a lot, him being there. But that isn't entirely what happened. Every time I felt you close by, or heard your voice; it was something I could draw strength from. I held onto it with everything I could while I was …wherever I was then. Alison, I think—I'm pretty sure … that I wouldn't have woken up when I did, if you hadn't been there so much. You shouldn't have, you know – I don't have to look at any hospital logs to know that you stayed by me a lot more than was healthy for you. How much sleep did you lose, anyway?" His voice held a little chastising, as well as wry amusement. He knows me pretty well; still, he was looking for an answer.

I swallowed, and frowned …because I could feel the wet tracks of sudden tears on my face. My emotions were out of whack – again – around this man. I owed him an answer, and I tried to give him one that made sense.

"Your dad – he was so great, by the way; he and Chase were my coffee 'dealers' while we waited for you to awaken – I'm sure, Eric, that his presence made the difference. He certainly gave me a lot of strength to hang onto. As far as how long I spent there …"

Coward that I am, I couldn't quite finish my thought at that moment. Eric had turned in his seat to face me, quietly watching me. I swallowed again, trying to sum up everything I felt.

"…I, I _couldn't_ be anywhere else. I just–-couldn't, Eric. You had your dad, and Wilson, Chase, Cuddy, the nurses - even House, from time to time – but I still _knew_ you felt …alone. I didn't _want_ to be anywhere else but there in your room …so you wouldn't be alone. A couple of times, the guys and Cuddy pretty much forcibly took me to my place to rest … but I'd just sneak back a few hours later. They eventually gave up; I spent a little bit of time sleeping on the couch in Wilson's office, too. I suspect they also 'spiked' my coffee a couple of times, too …there were times I don't remember getting from your room to Wilson's couch. Bastards." Eric chuckled at hearing that; some of the mental images _were_ funny, and after a moment, I started laughing with him.

A few minutes passed after we'd finished, and I thought he'd heard enough …and was finished with the subject, when he spoke again … in a very quiet voice.

"There's nothing I can say to all that, except – thank you. Thank you for staying with me. Being in a coma is a weird experience; especially when there are fragments of memories floating around, all jumbled up, in my brain. I know one thing for sure, though – I wasn't alone." His hand came over to the steering wheel, and rested on top of mine. I let go of the wheel, keeping the other on to steer the car; and turned my other hand over, wrapping my fingers through and around his. He pulled our joined hands over to him and softly kissed mine, before finally releasing me.

The rest of the trip back to his place was made in mostly companionable silence, with occasional glances, light conversation, and smiles between us. It was yet another of the many things I liked about him; Eric never felt the need to fill up silences with talk, unless he had something to say. He's always been as comfortable being quiet as he is talking with me. That quality is pretty special to me; since I'm generally uncomfortable around people who incessantly chattered. With him, I could enjoy the pauses; as well as the words.

By the time we got back home (_when_ did I start thinking of his place as 'home', I wondered?) he was napping in his seat; his head tilted back on the headrest, eyes closed, breathing evenly … his mouth slightly open. I parked the car, turned off the engine, and just sat for a moment, watching him. I knew that he was gradually getting his strength back from the ordeal he'd been through, and needed to rest as much as he could … while his body regained its' balance. I didn't want to wake him; he looked so peaceful … even in the cramped car seat he filled up. I reached over, gently running a finger along his cheekbone … tracing the arteries and veins I felt beneath, and letting the gentle rise and fall of his breathing bring him into contact with my fingertips. A horn from nearby jarred him awake with a start; he looked a little lost for a few seconds, and I quickly reassured him, whispering across the front seat, "Hey, sleepyhead; we're home."

"Mmm …sorry, guess I dozed off there for a while," and then he yawned; stretching as much as he could in the cramped space. I needed to get us inside soon; the sky had darkened considerably since we'd first left, and I was worried it would start raining before too long. "Let's get you inside, then, so you can nap some more" I told him, unbuckling both our seatbelts and getting out of the car, before opening the back seat to get our grocery bags.

"I'll help bring this stuff in, and put everything away." I started to object, but something told me he wanted to do something; anything, in order to get further away from the forced inactivity he'd been under during the past two weeks in the hospital. Instead, I nodded at him over the hood of the car, and took as many bags as I could manage … Eric following with the rest.

"Think we have enough stuff?" he quipped.

"Not sure," I answered in the same teasing voice he used. "We might have to go back tomorrow—who knows, maybe you'll get to see your three _girlfriends_ there again!" I used my set of keys to open his front door, and left it open for him … heading directly to the kitchen.

He shook his head with a grin, helping me settle the bags on his kitchen table, before closing the front door. "Are we a little jealous, 'Ms. Cameron'?" I rolled my eyes at him.

"Oh, you wish, 'Mr. Foreman'! That's _just_ what that ego of yours needs – more inflation!" I laughed at the pretend-offended look on his face.

"Hey – sick guy over here! How about a little mercy, huh? I **did** let you bring that butterscotch stuff into my abode, didn't I?" I was putting the ice cream and other perishables away, while he concentrated on the rest.

"No matter how much you beg, Eric – you're not getting any of it! I know you secretly want some!" I teased him.

He paused while putting some cans of soup away, to point at his face.

"Look at my face, honey – see how crushed I am?" I threw a dishcloth at him from the sink in the kitchen, as we proceeded to empty all of the bags and put things away. I was surprised, when I first came by his place and discovered that his kitchen was so well-equipped and organized. I couldn't wait to watch him cook; wondering what menu plans he had in mind for the week, based on the things he'd bought. And, as promised, he'd paid for everything without a batted eyelash or a single word. The kitchen was filled with our laughs as we maneuvered around each other, putting all the food away. He tossed the dishcloth back at me with a grin.

"Don't be a smartass – and can you put the salmon in the refrigerator to stay thawed, while I make some marinade?" I asked.

"Sure thing -- you want any help?" I shook my head, giving him a smile; even though part of me wanted him close by, alongside me in his kitchen … he looked tired, and I was hoping he'd rest some more.

"No thanks. I'm good. Why don't you put on some soft music, and sit for a while?" I was half-expecting an argument; but he just gave me one of those tiny grins that always enchanted me … reached into the fridge for a bottle of spring water, and headed over to the living room and the stereo system. "Looks dark outside – we're getting more rain" he called from the other room, before the beginning notes of some instrumental blues music reached my ears as I gathered items for my salmon marinade. I planned on marinating and then baking the salmon inside of a breadcrumb-and-parsley covering; adding mixed vegetables, buttered dinner rolls, and maybe some ice cream for dessert later. Dinner wasn't going to be for some time yet, though; so I started with the marinade, then added the salmon to it in a flat pan Eric had that was perfect for the job, returned it to the fridge for an hour or two, and then slowly made my way to the living room.

Eric was stretched out on the couch, on his side … an arm thrown lazily over his face. His shoes sat on the floor nearby; I quietly added my own sneakers to them, and then silently moved over, carefully and slowly lying down next to him on the giant couch. You could easily fit more than two people on it, which meant that we had plenty of space in which to relax. He'd put the music on low, and the room held a dark, relaxed atmosphere; a small amount of light coming through the windows from the steadily darkening skies outside, and the one lit lamp in the room. I stretched out, turned to face away from him, towards the big flat screen TV on the wall opposite the couch … my body snuggled against his. I gently tucked my head underneath his chin, and felt his arm come around to hold me close from behind, as we spooned. He stroked and nuzzled my hair with his cheek, and then leaned in to plant soft kisses on the back of my neck … drawing purring sighs from me. I laid my outside arm over the one he'd wrapped tight around my middle, and folded my other arm up and behind me … resting my other hand on the top of his close-cropped hair, gently massaging wherever my fingers landed. We stayed that way for quite a while, as the skies outside finally opened up, the rains rhythmically pelting their songs against the living room windows. I felt Eric's breathing even out behind me, and knew he'd drifted off again … with me not too far behind. It was so peaceful and relaxing there, beside him; I closed my eyes just for a bit, remembering that I needed to start our dinner in a while.

Most doctors, I think, develop the ability to regulate their sleep with a little more control than the typical person can usually manage – and I was no exception. I knew the fish would finish marinating and be ready for the oven in another couple of hours or so, and there were other things to do to get dinner ready, as well. I set my "internal" clock for a reasonable period of rest, and then let myself drift off in Eric's arms. The soft music, which seemed to fit perfectly for napping on a rainy day, combined with Eric's regular breathing next to me … sent me into a state of drifting contentment. At least once while we were there on his couch, I must've turned over to face him in sleep; a couple of times, I felt his breath on my forehead and through my hair, snuggled close to his chest as his arms encircled me. My face was tucked up underneath his chin, and I could feel the pulse of his heartbeat against my lips …hearing him softly moan, every time my lips moved across his skin.

Sleep can be a very sensual experience, I knew; with the right person next to you.

When I woke a little later, within the time I felt I'd set my internal "alarm" to go off, I was alone on the couch … underneath a blanket that carried Eric's scent. I sighed, my eyes slowly opening, and I stretched … not sensing him anywhere close by. Then the faint sound of a shower reached my ears, and I glanced at my watch. Perfect time to start the fish baking, and prepare the rest of dinner. I reluctantly left the comfort of the couch and blanket, and padded to the kitchen …leaving my shoes off.

I had prepared and battered the fish, placing it in the oven to bake, and was in the middle of preparing the mashed potatoes and vegetables when the shower turned off, and I heard Eric moving around in his room. A few minutes later, he came out into the front of the apartment where the kitchen and living room were, dressed in sweats and thick socks … a whiff of soap surrounding him. He smiled when he saw me busily stirring the potatoes, coming into the kitchen and kissing me on his way to the fridge.

"Hey, love," he said. "Just wake up?" He was rustling around in the fridge; looking for something to drink, I guessed.

"Hey yourself, sweetie," I smiled at him. "No; a little while ago. I just put the fish in the oven, and dinner will be ready in another hour or so. I put your bottle of water back in the fridge for you. How did you get off the couch without waking me? I'm usually a lighter sleeper than that."

"We blacks have 'innate' stealth capabilities, you know," he answered, pulling out the bottle he was drinking from earlier. "I sometimes amuse myself by sneaking up on Chase in the lab; apparently, Australians don't pay much attention to their surroundings. Makes me worry about that boy." The food prep area in Eric's kitchen faced the living room; and after getting his water bottle from the fridge and taking a few swigs, he stood behind me as I continued stirring. I started laughing at his jokes, then froze when I felt him come closer, moving my hair away from my neck, and proceeding to, well, 'distract me' with his lips. My head titled back on its' own, to give him better access …as I let out a few low moans from the attention he was giving my now sensitive neck.

"Eric…" I groaned, pausing in my stirring to enjoy what he was doing.

"Hmm?" he managed to say between kisses. My eyes were closing, my body reacting to him; the soap scent of his skin, his soft, exploring lips, his hands that had made their way to my waist and rested on the tiny amount of bare skin between my blouse and jeans; everything. He was …intoxicating.

I put my fork down, turned around in his arms, and found his mouth with mine. My arms slowly wended their way around his neck, pulling him closer to me as his hands came up to stroke my hair. We broke for air, breathing heavily like teenagers, and looked in each other's eyes. Through the haze of desire surrounding me, I saw his lips moving, hearing his voice with a weird delay, sounding slightly out of phase. I shook my head to clear it.

"I'd better, um ... let you finish, before …" There was no doubt between us that our attraction to each other was strong, and growing. It would be so easy to just forget dinner, and make each other our meal for the evening.

Looking in his eyes, I saw in them what the voice inside my head was telling me; that it was still too soon, the powerful attraction between us threatening to engulf and drown us, if we let it happen before we were ready, together, for the forces that we'd be dealing with … once we'd made love.

And we both knew, studying each others' eyes, that when we did … we would _make love_ -- not just have sex. We had grown too close, and had too much respect for each other, just to have sex. We had reached inside each other's hearts, and now lived there, as much as we did in our own bodies. It didn't need to be said; it was just _there_.

"Yeah," I whispered, holding his eyes still, "I should finish the potatoes, I guess." He slowly nodded, but before moving away … brought his face to the side of mine, and gave me a soft kiss on my cheek that was somehow more sensual, more promising, than anything else we'd shared that day. My eyes closed during the kiss, as I leaned my head against his, once his lips left my skin … my toes once again curling in my socks. He backed away, took his water, and slowly left the kitchen. I watched him go, suddenly cold without his body next to mine, and felt a small shiver up my spine.

Before I could turn back to the potatoes, there was a knock at the front door. I looked at it, and then met Eric's look as he walked over to it. We were both thinking the same thing: House. Eric looked through the peephole, turned and grinned at me, then opened the door. Cuddy stood there in the doorframe, her raincoat slightly wet from the rains that still came down from the dark skies.

"Cuddy – hi, come on in, out of the rain" Eric told her, waving her in. She stepped through, and then noticed me through the opening between the kitchen and the living room. We smiled at each other, and I greeted her …coming to take her coat and umbrella as Eric closed and latched the front door.

"Hi, guys. Sorry to drop by without calling first, Foreman, but I didn't want to wake you in case you were sleeping. I just needed to get both your signatures on a form that I forgot this morning. I'm really sorry," she said, as Eric waved her protests away.

"It's OK, Cuddy – and please -- call me Eric away from the 'big house', all right?" We all laughed, Cuddy immediately feeling more comfortable; even dressed as she still was in her business suit. She must have come directly from the hospital.

"Feeling better?" she asked, including both of us in her questioning look.

"We're fine, thanks." I answered, sending Eric an inquiring look that he answered with a small nod. "Would you like to stay for dinner? We're having some breaded catfish with parsley and mustard sauce, mashed potatoes, and veggies. There's enough for three." She raised her eyebrow.

"That sounds wonderful – your recipe?" She was looking at the stirring fork in my hand. I shook my head.

"Actually, it's my mom's. She used to make it for me one Sunday a month, and when I graduated from med school. It's almost like …comfort food for me. Eric's playing the guinea pig tonight."

"Oink, oink" this from him … earning him a laugh from Cuddy -- and a glare from me. Cuddy looked torn.

"Damn – I've got a donors reception to go to in a bit; otherwise, I'd take you up on your kind offer. I really want to try that; never had catfish that way before. _Damn_ donors--raincheck?" We chuckled at the frustrated look on her face.

"Sure thing – assuming I survive the experiment," Eric told her, after having plastered a worried look on his face. Cuddy laughed again.

"You might not survive the _next few minutes_, the way you're going, pal!" I threatened, waving the fork at him. Cuddy looked back and forth between us … a tiny smile on her face.

"You two are like a married couple. Am I in the right place?" she said, looking around as if she were lost.

I turned my glare from Eric's grinning face, to hers. "The _same_ goes for you, too—in case you were wondering." She threw her hands in the air.

"Geeze–-_first_ you verbally clothesline me in my office, and _then_ threaten me with a fork! Guess that's my cue to retreat!" She laid an envelope on the coffee table, smiling as Eric retrieved her coat and held it for her. He wasn't looking at her, though; Cuddy's comment about 'verbally clotheslining' her had him puzzled, and I sighed … knowing I'd have to explain my … outburst … with her in her office to him. She put her coat back on, grabbed her purse and umbrella, and turned to leave.

"I have to get that form filed soon, Eric, in order to get your insurance stuff processed; so, if Alison can drop it off at the hospital sometime in the next day or so…?" she looked between us.

"No problem," I told her, "I'll make sure he signs it -- _before_ the catfish poison takes effect," I added, turning to smile sweetly at him. Eric's eyes widened, and then he leaned over to whisper to Cuddy, "Mind some company tonight?" She laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm so glad you're doing well, Eric – you, too, Alison. I want you to catch up on all that sleep you lost, watching over our neurologist here - got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, with a lazy military salute, that she returned in an equally lazy manner. Giving both of us another smile, she swept out of the apartment with a wave. Eric closed and locked the door behind her, and then slowly turned to me as I began stirring the potatoes again.

"Hey, you know I was only joking about—" he began, pausing at the look I gave him.

"Oh, I **know**, sweetie – just you and more of your _jokes _…it's fine." He had an increasingly worried look on his face, which almost made me laugh out loud. My revenge was only starting, though.

"You know—" I thoughtfully began, halting him in his path to the living room; "to make it up to me, you _could _finish the potatoes. Everything else is cooking, and I feel a need to put my feet up just now." I gave him my sweetest smile, with just a little steel added for good measure. He sighed, looking down at his feet … shaking his head.

"I'm going to pay for that joke for a while, aren't I?" I slowly nodded, wiping my hands on the dishcloth … holding the fork out to him. He slowly came into the kitchen, carefully taking the fork from me while I grabbed a beer from the fridge, and then headed past him for the couch.

"Probably—depends on whether I'm allowed control of the remote tonight, or not" I whispered as I passed him, giggling at the wince that came to his face.

**END OF CHAPTER SIX**


	7. Chapter 7

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 7 – Foreman"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None

**Author's Note:** I basically watched the two-part House episodes, "Euphoria", with my mouth open in shock. It's rare that you see people act their asses off on a TV show like pretty much everyone on House did during those two episodes, and it got me to thinking. What would happen to Cameron and Foreman's relationship afterward? Would they discover things about themselves, and each other, after everything they'd gone through? Stress and pain can ruin lives, yes …but sometimes, it can also release those "locks" we sometimes place on ourselves, and let us see possibilities we wouldn't have seen before. That's the basic theme of this story.

**Reviewers:**

"**gatermage": **Hello again! Thanks for telling me about your favorite scenes … they were fun to write, too! And, you know, I pretty much agree with you on how the show dealt with the issues surrounding the article. So … based in no small part on **_your_** review, here is how I think it was resolved …

**FOREMAN**

I'm in trouble.

All day long, ever since waking this morning, and finally getting ready to leave the hospital in order to finish recovering at home … she's been close by; watching out for me, bringing me clothes from home, finalizing my discharge … basically taking care of me. Keeping me company while driving me home. Going to lunch with me, and then going with me to the store, so that I'd have enough food in the apartment. Making dinner for us my first night back home.

Caring for me … more than a nurse, doctor, or even a close friend generally would. Not out of guilt, or responsibility -- which would have been tiring for both of us, before too long; as well as being emotionally damaging in rebuilding our friendship -- no, not for any of that; because, every time I look at her, and our eyes meet … I see how much she's growing to really care for me. I'm sure that she sees the same in my eyes and face, and through our physical contact.

Not the physical contact of sex; we haven't reached that point. Not because either of us haven't thought about it, or we weren't close a couple of times. Alison is an amazingly beautiful woman, in every sense of the word. Every male around her will testify to that. Dark, auburn/brown hair … lovely dark grey/blue eyes, a classically sculpted face, a tiny body that carries its' share of sensual, soft curves … no one can just look at her once, without at least one double-take. I've seen it so many times, it's not even novel anymore. And Alison just --accepts it. She never flaunts her beauty (except in rare times usually as a part of a joke), or uses it to get what she wants, or wields it like a weapon; as a lot of women do these days.

She doesn't even use much makeup, which probably makes quite a few other women pissed off. The few times I've seen her all 'dolled-up," as my dad would say, were special events; the party at the hospital immediately comes to mind. It was the one and only time, when the team gathered in our offices to go over a patient's diagnosis and treatment, all of us dressed to the nines -- that I've seen THE Dr. Gregory House actually _tongue-tied_. When he turned around, looked up, and saw Alison in her form-fitting, burgundy dress –- well, even 'Captain Snark' himself couldn't think of anything to say. Actually forgot what he was thinking. To be honest, so did I, the first time I saw her in that dress. It was very amusing, watching her effect on people at that party. The only other woman at the party who could even approach her in brilliant beauty was Cuddy herself; and that's probably only in part because she's the boss.

Not that my bosses' boss _isn't_ attractive; she is, definitely. But Alison was the main attraction at that party, something Lisa herself seemed to accept. It's a tribute to Cuddy that she did; no one can accuse her of being vain or competitive, where other beautiful women are concerned.

But, I'm drifting off target.

Why does all this mean I'm in trouble? Well – because, I never expected this. Never saw any of it coming. I don't know if I'm prepared, or ready for it, either.

When I was ill, and made the decision to basically turn my life over to Alison with the medical proxy, I made what I thought was the only decision that carried any sense at all, considering the circumstances at the time.

I had no idea at the time, that it would mean that it would also mean I'd turn over my heart to her as well.

When I told her that I'd sensed her close by while I was in the coma, I saw how much hearing me say that shocked her. We're both doctors; we know that coma patients – even ones in medically-induced comas, as I was – experience some level of interaction with their environment through the senses; hearing, or reacting to touch -- things like that -- as long as there isn't any brain function impairment.

What I didn't tell her was that, while I was in the coma, I wanted to come back to _her_ as much as I did for my dad, family, and friends. The sheer power of that feeling, that sustained me and gave me the energy to fight -- frightened me, to be perfectly honest. When I woke up, my mental confusion wasn't so much a result of the biopsy, I think … as it was me trying to deal with the new way I saw and felt about Alison.

And … there she was, leaning over me as I opened my eyes in that hospital bed. For a second, I almost asked everyone to leave, except for my dad; I was _that_ shaken on the inside …as House examined me in his misanthropic way. But, I didn't … knowing with certainty that she'd take it as rejection, a return of the "old" Eric Foreman, the guy who didn't care about anyone but himself.

Alison, House, and my dad were the only people in the room at the time. She'd know why -- or thought she'd know -- why I would've asked her to leave. House – well, people asking him to leave is almost an hourly occurrence for him. But she'd know -- and I couldn't do that to her, again.

Reject her.

Even though at that particular moment in time … no one, or nothing frightened me more than Alison Cameron.

Crazy -- huh?

I _did_ have neurological issues from the biopsy, that's true; and still do, to a certain extent. My spatial-recognition is noticeably off; and some short-term memory is a little fuzzy. And my balance isn't what it should be, either. It's the reason I didn't want to drive myself anywhere … and was so glad Alison volunteered to take me home, then to the store.

It was all a lot to deal with after I'd awoke from the biopsy and the medically induced coma, I suppose I was a little on the quiet side for the first couple of days afterwards … not saying much to anyone, which concerned my dad, and my doctor, greatly.

But the worst of it, back then, was that all of that paled beside the unfamiliar, unusual feeling of being so powerfully drawn to Alison; of needing to rely on her strength and presence; and being surprised beyond words at discovering that the feelings and emotions I'd felt then, and still experience -- were returned, and shared, by her.

Which means … that I'm in trouble. Because I can't stop thinking about her … or looking at her every chance I get, or trying to get her to smile or laugh …

… or touch her.

I don't quite know what to do about it, either, because I've never felt this way about anyone. Ever. Especially with someone whom I'd already known for a while … and with whom I'd only recently had a BIG falling out with.

She's forgiven me. By word, and by deed … I know she's forgiven me for what I did to her. But, I wonder if it's really all behind us. As intensely as we've delved into this second chance relationship, one that feels like it's turning into a romance; I can't help but ask if, in some ways, it's a cover, a shade … for all of those negative, hurtful, violated feelings we recently had for each other.

After all … I _did_ try to infect her with whatever it was that was killing me, in order to trap her in the same vortex I was in. It doesn't matter that I was in so much pain and despair at the time, or that I might have done it to anyone who'd happened to be nearby at the time. I'd given her yet another reason to hate me – one that could also threaten her life.

_That's_ what I'd meant back there in the supermarket, when I was talking to the small crowd of people around us … that, because of what I'd done, I'd never felt so bad in my entire life. That moment -- when I jabbed that needle through Alison's protective suit -- was my absolute lowest point as a human being.

She'd forgiven me, for all of it … but could I ever completely forgive myself? And, if I couldn't … would it doom our new relationship, before it even had a real chance?

It isn't infatuation, or gratitude, that I'm feeling so strongly … for what she did for me. Yes, I've passed through all of those stages of feelings about her; someone who's as beautiful as she is inspires infatuation. She _saved_ me from that brain parasite – she, and House. I was perfectly serious, when I told those ladies in the supermarket that she's the reason I'm alive.

I think I've been trying to talk myself out of feeling the way that I do about her, because I can – ahead in the distance – already see some of the things a relationship between us will face, because of our respective races. I wonder if she's thought about that. If so, she doesn't seem to be worried at all about it. She's been so open about her feelings and thoughts between us, so trusting around me – when I haven't deserved any trust, after what I did to her – that it's all been more than a little overwhelming to me -- considering my own inner doubts and turmoil.

She told me, during a moment with her that I'll never forget, that I should trust in how she feels about me _now_; despite all of the doubts and other feelings she'd sensed I was struggling with.

It's so easy for me to trust her. I do it without even considering it. It's the same as when I made her my medical proxy; that was absolute trust; trust in her abilities as a doctor, and in the person she is. Trusting, and forgiving, myself; well, that's another thing.

Even though I'd been nonchalant and dismissive of her obvious hurt and pain after I'd stolen her article, during those rare periods when I'd thought about what I'd done, I'd felt like I was broken inside; in ways that not even House could do to me. It was when she'd whispered her forgiveness, as I went under from the drugs medically inducing the coma … that I'd begun to heal on the inside again. And after I woke up, it's been Alison; her presence, her laughter, her teasing, and her unwavering caring …that has kept the knitting needles working on my soul and psyche.

And then there are the times we've touched … and kissed.

That first kiss – _oh, man_. Imagining how it would be was **nothing,** compared to the reality. I really don't know how we managed to stay away from my bed, afterward. I saw the desire in her eyes, as I know she saw mine. She felt so soft, and inviting … it would have been the most natural thing in the world.

But it would have been wrong.

We were right … there were so many other things going on; I had just gotten out of the hospital, and we had both jumped feet-first onto this new path of a much deeper, closer relationship than we had before; and even though we are both pretty certain of our feelings for the other, both of us weren't thinking or feeling our way along with blinders on. There was, and is, a lot to talk about between us. And time; time we need to spend together, exploring this second go-round … before we add the whole complex layer of sex on top of it all.

It isn't easy, though.

When we got back from the store …and she'd started dinner, while I crashed in my living room … I guess that I didn't expect her to come over to the couch once she'd finished in the kitchen. I was half-asleep when I felt her lay next to me … carefully molding the contours of her body to mine, slowly snuggling against me; as if I was like her grandmother's ring, an heirloom that she was afraid of breaking. Before I thought about it, my arm was around her waist, and I was nuzzling her neck, her soft moans almost my undoing. I found the self-control to stop, somehow - and then we drifted off to sleep together …enveloped in the warmth of our bodies, the soft music from the stereo, and the relaxing tapping of the raindrops on the windows and roof from outside. Later, when I felt her turn over in sleep, facing me …her soft curves and softer breaths flowing like water over me … any more sleep was impossible. So I just lay there, next to her … watching her sleep. Her hair had come loose a little from the hairclip she usually wore, so I carefully worked my fingers through her hair's softness …stroking it in long sweeps with my fingers, watching as a small smile appeared on her face. I then moved down to her back …slowly massaging it, grinning a little as she slid even closer to me -- her whispered sleep-filled sighs showing me my attentions were pleasing and relaxing her.

Thinking about our day while gazing at her in the semi-darkness of the room, the cooking sounds coming from my gas kitchen stove serving as sort of a metronome … I wondered whether things weren't happening a little too fast between us. The holding hands, the touching, the kisses … it felt in a way like some teen romance novel come to life; when love appears out of nowhere, blooms like a field of spring flowers, and then … what? Wilts? Dies? Hibernates through the winter, to come alive again the following spring? How would it work out for us? I know I haven't done much to slow things down to a more measured pace – whatever that may be – but is this what I want? What we want?

See what I mean? Trouble.

Being a doctor means patients tend to think you should always have the answers, or you're close to finding them. How many times have we found the right treatment, the right answer for our patients – saving lives, more often than not? That kind of power can be heady, leaving my expectations for the rest of the things in my life, a little "skewed", as a result. God knows my previous relationships never followed the "expected" path; why should _this_ one would be any different? Chances are -- things will be harder for us, needing even more patience and work; not because of all of the things we have in common, Alison and I – but because of the differences between us.

Earlier today, at the store, when I launched into that "contrived" story about us for our unintended audience … I knew that I'd surprised and shocked Alison with my words. What she doesn't realize, is that I told them one of the fantasies I've had recently about our future together; actually being her husband, and embarrassing her with the story of 'how we met' to perfect strangers. If the result is anything like that kiss she gave me afterwards, in the aisle -- well, it was a relief, if nothing else. I really didn't know how she'd react to the things I'd said to those ladies; the look in her eyes, before she took my face in her hands and kissed me in the aisle afterwards told me that maybe, just maybe; she'd been imagining some of the same things I had. Hearing about the difficult time we'd recently gone through caused her a lot of pain, I knew; my heart broke at the tears she'd shed, as I held her close -- not knowing if she'd bolt from the store, stop speaking to me, or what. I _had_ to tell that part of the story, though; because I wanted to let her know how far I'd come, being with her … and maybe -- even how much further the two of us could go -- together.

I wasn't sure she'd understood why I did what I'd done, really; until she kissed me afterward.

The rest of the day was spent just enjoying being with each other -- smiling, laughing, putting the groceries away, our time on the couch ... even while Cuddy was here with us. Her comment about us being like a "married couple" seemed to reinforce the palpable bond between us; something I know Cuddy picked up on, and which would find its' way to the hospital gossip mill, in one form or another … sooner, rather than later.

Now I'm standing here, fluffing mashed potatoes with a fork; wondering if she'd mind if I added some chives in it, for more flavor. I couldn't remember whether she even liked chives or not; shaking my head in amusement at the thought of ever being in this position before tonight. My head movements must have caught her attention from the living room, though, because I saw her pause in channel surfing on the TV, to look at me.

"What's going through that crooked mind of yours, sweetie?" she asked, laughing at the tongue I stuck out in her direction.

"Just wondering if you'd like some chives in this," I pointed down into the pot holding the mashed potatoes. She raised her eyebrow.

"Darn! Knew I was forgetting something! Sorry about that, Eric -- yes, chives would be great, thank you. What are mashed potatoes, anyway, without chives?" she replied, giving an exaggerated shrug.

"That's OK, honey – you'll always want an _expert _like meto help tie a meal like this together with sage advice and suggestions!" I told her with a smile and a lilting voice. She stood up, giving me another of her long-suffering stares … while crossing her arms over her chest.

"An 'expert', hmm? Well, _I'm_ an expert in _tying_ people up who give me too much lip with one of _my_ own recipes!" she huffed. The potatoes were done; I'd added what I thought was a good amount of chives from the spice rack, whipping them a few more times, before putting the fork down and walking over to where she stood – still glaring at me. I hoped that what I was about to do next wouldn't put me in the dog house for the rest of the evening. She watched me warily as I slowly approached; a non-threatening grin on my face.

"Now, girl - no one can be expected to master the intricacies of mashed potatoes—" I suddenly grabbed her, pulled her against me, and started tickling her unmercifully.

"Eric! Stop it!!" she screamed, laughing and twisting in my grasp. "You're gonna _get_ it—stop!!" She tried to break away, and almost managed to …until I stepped up the speed of my tickling finger, moving my hands faster. She was laughing so hard, trying to get away … once I started tickling her faster and harder, she suddenly tried to reverse on me; quickly sliding around in my grasp, so that she was holding me -- trying to return the favor.

"Oh, no you don't!" I cried out, surprising her by pushing her on the couch, while I took off for the bedroom.

"Coward!" she yelled, following in hot pursuit. I barely made it to the edge of the bed, thinking I'd grab her again when we were both on it to regain the upper hand -- when she leaped onto my back, sending both of us onto the bed … laughing hysterically while wrestling each other. We reversed positions a few times, each trying to end up on top – she was stronger than she looked, for someone so tiny – and finally, she won … grabbing my hands, pinning me to the bed.

"Hey, girl … gasp… if you wanted sex … all you had to do … gasp was ask …" I told her, trying to catch my breath between laughs. She was lying on top of me, her body covering mine, and I saw her grin through her wildly flowing, now unclipped hair. There was a mischievous look in her eyes, making me wonder what she had in store for me.

Still holding my hands above me on the bed, she grunted, pinning me down. "_Now_ … you tell me …" she managed to get out, through her own gasps. Then, she stopped moving; staring down at my lips with a hungry look.

"Alis—" was all I could get out, before she leaned down to kiss me – then moved her mouth away from mine at the very last instant …then pushing off of me and the bed, before nonchalantly turning away & padding out of the room towards the kitchen … while I just lay there, dazed.

"You're _still_ not getting any of my butterscotch ice cream, sweetie …" she threw over her shoulder, as she disappeared around the corner.

"And you're an evil, evil woman, honey!" I managed to throw back at her through my own surprise. I'm guessing she's working through a list of my "offenses" to get back at me over -- making the rest of the evening even more interesting than I thought, or hoped.

I laid there on my bed …listening to her giggles as she went to the kitchen, apparently checking on the fish and other things we prepared for dinner. Earlier, she'd cooked some fresh mixed vegetables in my steamer pot, as well as slicing and buttering some soft Italian bread we'd selected from the bakery at the store. Staring up at my bedroom ceiling, a grin on my face …I let my thoughts drift as I slowly regained my breath from our little wrestling match.

A few minutes later, I heard dishes being pulled out of cabinets, followed by the sounds of clinking silverware.

"If you think I'm going to bring you your dinner and feed you, you should wake up from the dream you're apparently having," she called to me from the kitchen, with a laugh in her voice. "Do you usually eat here, or do you want to have dinner on the couch?" she asked.

I remained silent, still thinking …while waiting for her to see what was keeping me here in my room. Closing my eyes, I stayed as still as I could on the bed. Another minute or two passed, and then I heard her soft footfalls slowly approach the room …pausing at the doorway.

"Eric?" she whispered. I opened my eyes, raising my head in her direction. Her face filled with fear and panic; something I hadn't thought of; or wanted. Boy, am I an _idiot!_ Why didn't I foresee this kind of reaction from her?

"Oh, god…" she softly cried, rushing over to the bed -- reaching for my wrist to take my pulse. "Eric—baby, talk to me, please …"

There wasn't anything wrong with me, but my contemplative moment had her scared she'd somehow hurt me—or that I'd had some kind of relapse. Her hands were moving all over me; checking my vitals, examining me. "Eric, can you hear me? I'm right here -- what's wrong?" Her voice had tightened, worry seeping through every word. She continued to examine me … sending worried looks to the phone next to my bed.

I moved a hand; placing it on top of hers, resting on my chest. "Alison, I'm ok … just needed to catch my breath a little, that's all …" I carefully whispered, trying to calm her before she reached for the phone to call an ambulance. She shook her head, once.

"It's my fault! I can't believe I did that – jumping on you that way, like a fool! _What_ was I thinking—god!!" She was punishing herself, and I grabbed her hands before she could go any further. "Alison--stop! I'm fine; promise! See? Vitals all steady, right? No symptoms of stress … I swear, I'm really OK. Don't worry, you didn't do anything …" She was staring intently into my eyes, still fighting the last of the panic she was obviously feeling. She studied my eyes closely.

"You're …really ok? Are you sure I didn't hurt you or anything?" she quietly asked, after she'd verified for herself my vitals were stable, and that I was breathing normally.

"Yes, I'm fine. And no, of course; you wouldn't hurt me, honey. Now, please calm yourself; I didn't mean to scare you this way."

She threw herself on me, hugging me fiercely…her breathing still too rapid for my liking. "When I saw you motionless here, I—" She gave out a shuddering breath, and I could feel her heartbeat racing like a dozen horses.

"Shhh," I whispered to her, "…everything's fine…shhhh…I'm so sorry, hon." I told her … rocking her back and forth, rubbing her back.

After another few minutes, she'd calmed enough to raise her head from where she'd buried it against my neck, looking down at me. "_Please_ don'tscare me like that again, Eric. I can't—I _couldn't _handle it, if anything else happened to you." She traced my cheek gently with a fingertip; holding my gaze, hers so singularly powerful, I couldn't answer right away; instead, I gave her a slow smile.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, girl—you're my doctor, and you're going to make sure of that. So, there's absolutely nothing for you to worry about—right?" She nodded once, slowly but emphatically, at my words.

"Damn straight! I'm not losing you aga—" She stopped; quickly looking away from me, a stricken look flickering across her flushed face; and I suddenly had a sense of some of the things she'd gone through while I was still in the hospital. I reached up, turning her face back to mine.

"You _never_ lost me, and you never will. _ I'm_ not letting _you_ go anywhere, girl—believe it!" I told her just as emphatically.

She laid her head back down on my chest. "You'd better not…" she whispered against me. We lay there for a while, one of her hands in mine, while my free hand slowly rubbed her back. She sighed contentedly, and I was enjoying our contact …then, suddenly; remembered our dinner getting cold. I really didn't want to move from where we were and stop what we were doing, but we both needed to eat.

"So -- ready for dinner, hon? I want to try your fish…" I told her, getting a somewhat resigned sigh in return, before she lifted her head, planting her chin on my chest … looking down at me with a pleased grin.

"I think—I hope—you'll like the recipe. You heard me tell Cuddy where I got it from earlier; so _no_ smart-aleck remarks if you don't like it, ok? Just…protect my poor, bruised feelings -- please?" She stuck out her lower lip in a very cute way, and I chuckled. "I'm sure I'll like it—quit worrying! So, let's go dig in—I'm hungry!" She moved to get off of me, and I immediately missed the contact and warmth of her body. Hey, at least we made it to my bed—fully clothed, that is. She stood, and held out a hand to me, which I took. She pulled me to my feet, and we left the bedroom, making our way to the kitchen.

"I think we can sit at the table if it's OK with you?" I asked, seeing that she'd already started to prepare two plates. She nodded, smiling at me over her shoulder as she moved to the oven, putting the large mitts I have for hot foods on before getting the catfish out. Once the door was opened, a wonderful smell filled the kitchen, and I grinned. "Mmmm…wow, now that smells great!" I told her, moving to the stove with a serving spoon, so that I could plate the vegetables and mashed potatoes. She laid the tray on the counter, and smiled at the contents. "It looks perfect." She'd spread more of the marinade on the fish, and topped it off with some sprigs of parsley. The fish was golden brown, stewing in a caramel-colored sauce. She transferred two pieces each to our plates, and then I finished them with the veggies and potatoes. She reached into a bag she'd left on the counter, pulling out the bottle of red chardonnay she'd bought at the store. "Opener?" she asked me, and I pointed to a drawer … moving our plates and two wine glasses to the table, while she deftly opened the wine. We moved together easily in the medium-sized space of my kitchen, our footfalls quieted by the fact that she was still barefoot, and I was shoeless myself; the thick socks I'd put on this morning still on my feet. The apartment felt comfortable and homey with the aromas of the food, whiffs of the wine mixing in with our own breathing …along with Alison's subtle perfume.

"Thank you for doing this for us, Alison—I really, really appreciate it. And thanks for spending the day with me, too," I told her. She stood a few feet away from me, the bottle of wine in her hands, giving me a warm smile. I watched her as she came over to me … leaning up to place a kiss on my chin. "I've loved being with you, too, Eric. And it's nice to finally share Mom's recipe with someone special." I smiled down at her, then followed her over to my kitchen table that was just big enough for two people to eat at. I held out her chair for her, after she'd placed the wine bottle in the middle of the table between our plates. She gave me another of her warm smiles as she sat … waiting until I'd seated myself across from her, before she started pour our wine. "Hope you like this wine, too … since you were foolish enough to let me pick it!" I laughed at the gleam in her dancing eyes; glad that the worry from a while ago had apparently disappeared. I cocked my head at her. "I like red wine, you know—many times have I had a snootful with my Cheetos and beef jerky!" She gave me a suspicious look. "You're joking, right? _Please_ tell me that was a joke…" All I answered her with was a wink, which got me narrowed eyes. "Foreman, if you ever eat _that_ combination in front of me, this thing is over!" she threatened …a grin on her face.

"Just wait until Saturday, when we're watching football …' I made my eyes show one seriously anticipatory look for her benefit. Narrowing her eyes; she put her fork down, and gave me an exaggerated shrug.

"Oh, didn't I mention? I have to wash my hair on Saturday…" she threw back, leaning closer to me across the table.

I closed the distance a little from my own side, matching her move.

"Can I help in any way?" I volleyed back to her, with nothing but a serious look on my face. She slowly shook her head, grinning at me.

"_Smartass_…"

"…but you love me anyway, hmm?" I replied, as she laughed again; any words she might have answered with couldn't be any better than what I saw in her eyes at that moment. Picking up her fork again, she used it to point at my plate.

"Shut up, and eat…" She watched me closely as I forked some of the fish, and brought it to my mouth. It was perfect; savory, filled with flavors that meshed so well, buttery soft; everything wrapped in the great taste of well-prepared seafood. I closed my eyes, the corners of my mouth turned up as I enjoyed that first piece; quickly following it with another.

"Alison … this is incredible …" I told her. One of the biggest smiles I'd ever seen on her face quickly blossomed like a flower into being.

"Really? You like it—you're not just being nice?" She continued watching me, grinning as I finished a second piece, quickly followed by some of the mashed potatoes and vegetables.

"I love it, I _am_ being nice—and aren't you going to have some? Cause, if you're not hungry--hand it over!" I started to reach for her plate, but she slapped my hand away. "Hey -- paws off! You got your own, and that's all you get!" She started eating, and then burst out laughing as I suddenly got up, opening the oven door, checking inside to see if there was any left hiding somewhere inside. She was almost losing her food from her mouth, laughing so hard at my exaggerated search movements.

"_Will_ you sit down--and stop playing around? Eat your dinner like a good little neurologist," she scolded me as I took my seat again; grinning, watching her as she continued working on her own food. We both paused to sip some wine; finally starting to pay more attention to the food and drink than each other.

"Man, this is going to be hard to top," I finally spoke after several minutes of comfortable silence, "but I have a few tricks up my sleeve to show off with," I said between swallows.

"Well," she answered, after swallowing some mashed potatoes, "judging by the different types of noodles and such I watched you get today, can I assume something Italian may be coming down the pike?" she asked, before taking a sip of wine.

"You may _assume_ anything you like—and you may well be right. On the other hand, you're probably not … so you'll just have to wait and see." That got me a pout and a half-glare; Alison loved being right about things as much as I did. "Should make this relationship very interesting," I thought to myself.

Her face took on a playful look. "You realize that this isn't a competition—right? I mean, we know who'd win, anyway; so why even bother?"

I paused; watching as she placed an innocent look on her face … pointing at her with my fork, while adding a glare of my own for good measure. She threw me a kiss.

We bantered some more, keeping the conversation light … steering away from topics like work and my illness; each filling in a few more empty squares of our lives and background for the other. We'd polished off the food fairly quickly; afterward, just sitting, sipping the wine, still talking … until she started to get up with a sigh, saying "let me take care of these dishes—" I stopped her with a hand.

"Let's both do them; it'll go faster, and then we can move to the living room; watch some TV, listen to music, or just talk some more if you want."

"Okay," she nodded, with a smile. We cleared the dishes, pots, and trays … rinsing them enough to go into the dishwasher … then cleaning up the kitchen before taking our wine glasses to the living room and settling on the couch. We put our glasses on the coffee table, and faced each other -- sitting Indian-style with our knees and feet touching.

"Dinner was great; thanks, hon." I began.

"You're welcome, sweetie." she replied … her fingers idly brushing my sweatpants-covered knees where we touched.

A thoughtful look come over her face as we sat down.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, alternating between watching her face and her fingers, as they drew patterns where they came into contact with my knees.

She didn't answer right away; instead, she idly studied the pictures in the bookcase next to the couch, and on the small desk in the room from her spot on the couch.

"We should talk about the article, I think. I know it's still on your mind, and we need to put it behind us for good; don't you think?"

I sighed. "Yes," I slowly nodded. She was right; we had to deal with it sooner or later. "And…" I continued, in a quiet voice.

"And?" she prompted. I scowled, cringing on the inside … but knowing we had something else to discuss, as well.

"I stuck you with an infected needle in the isolation ward, Alison." Both of us were quiet for some moments; she studied my face, no doubt seeing the internal strife I was still suffering over that act.

"I didn't get infected, Eric. I'm fine."

I looked up at her, finally meeting her eyes.

"That's not the point; I'm a doctor, and your friend -- and I _still _deliberately stuck you with a possibly contaminated needle. I put your _life_ at risk, Alison…after first stealing your article. How can you just forgive me for all that?"

She got up from the couch …walking over to the windows, where she stood--still as a tree; looking out into the darkness of the street outside. I watched her in the reflection from the window, different emotions running across her pale face, with her arms crossed over her chest. When she started speaking, it was with a tiny, hard voice that I hadn't heard since the day I'd told her that we weren't friends; just colleagues.

I'd prayed every day since then …that I'd never again hear that voice from her.

"After you stole the article," she began, "I quickly came to hate being anywhere near you, Eric. House continually chastising me for being naïve where you were concerned didn't help, either. And, when you stuck me with the needle, we were about as far away from each other as two people could possibly be."

I sat still as a statue … feeling as though the temperature in the apartment had noticeably dropped a few degrees. I knew, though, that this was the time to talk about these things with her; to finally put them in their proper place— and for us to decide if we could both deal with what had happened between us, and what it meant for us going forward. I cleared my throat.

"Both of those things were terrible, Alison, on their own. Together—" I stopped; shaking my head as she watched me from the window. "Why did you forgive me? You told me, after I'd first asked for your forgiveness, that you wouldn't; not until I'd gotten better. You were right," I watched her turn, gazing back at me with a penetrating look, "but you went ahead and forgave me, anyway, before I went into the coma. Why?"

She turned back to the window, sighing heavily. "Does it really matter why, Eric?" she quietly asked.

"Yes … please tell me, why?" I whispered to her in the absolute stillness of the room. She shivered, and rubbed her hands over her upper arms, as if she'd just felt a chill herself in the room.

"Because …I was so sick and tired of carrying that hate inside anymore, and -- you'd _given up_."

"What!" I leaped to my feet, and she finally turned to face me …her eyes blazing.

"You _gave up_, Eric!" she hissed. "I _saw_ it there, in your eyes, right before you went into the coma. You didn't think you were ever going to wake up again -- and I stopped hating you for the article at that moment -- and started hating you for GIVING UP! As much as I'd hated you before; for the article, and for risking my life …this was worse! I'd **never** seen you give up – _at anything_ – before!" Her voice rose in volume, as I stood there, staring at her in shock.

"Look at me, and tell me I'm wrong," she bored in on me, taking a step closer …her eyes locked with mine. I broke eye contact with her, looking down at my feet; shamed, unable to answer.

"Despite Cuddy and her rules, I would have done anything, _risked_ anything, to save you, Eric. I hated you, yeah—_but I didn't want you to die._ I didn't want to watch your dad suffer any more; or stand there … watching him take your body home with him. I didn't deserve what you'd done to me--and you didn't deserve to die. I thought—I thought that was enough for you to keep fighting. I hoped, when you first asked me to forgive you, that you really wanted a second chance with me—and I was willing to give it to you, after you'd recovered. I _also_ thought that you wouldn't want to be taken out by some damned bug—even if it meant risking a dangerous brain biopsy. **_You_** were willing to do it; but after House refused to perform the procedure, you _gave up_! _That's _what I hated most about you -- because the man that I'd known for so long, someone who'd never given up on anything before—who'd always fought with House when he thought it was right, or necessary—someone I'd always felt close to, and safe with--was just _giving up on his life_." She was breathing like a racehorse, her nostrils flaring … as she continued to stare at me. Then, it was as if all of the air in her body suddenly left her … and she seemed to shrink as she blew out a long breath.

"Something told me that, if I'd forgiven you when you'd first asked, it would have been easier for you to stop fighting to live. I saw it in your eyes, then – and it broke my heart. You _had _to keep fighting; it was your only chance, while we tried to figure out what was killing you. So—I refused to forgive you. For the reasons I told you then, yes; but also because I wasn't going to make it any easier for you to give up."

My heart was beating a thousand times a minute in my chest, as her words flowed like a raging torrent over me. As she poured out her heart at everything she'd gone through during that time. I couldn't believe she could care so much, or that one person could cause another so much pain. But, she did … and I had.

She continued speaking, then, in a still-low voice … that had become somehow softer in my ears.

"Then, you were in the coma …and I was still angry, and hurt. I was thinking that it was a stupid state for me to be in; with you lying in that bed. Finally getting better, from the anti-parasitic drugs we had you on. I wanted to just let it all go …all of the hurt, anger, and feelings of powerlessness; just go home, and wait for news about you either way-- from a distance."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, which finally drew my eyes to her face. She wasn't looking at me anymore, but at her own feet instead.

"But I couldn't. Go home, that is. Forgiving you before you went into the coma was the easy part. I was so tired, so weary of carrying all of that inside me. I was ready to let it go. But, whenever I tried to get up to leave, I couldn't make myself move. I discovered that, ever since I'd finally, really forgiven you -- and you'd started to recover -- I couldn't just leave you alone. I wanted a second chance, as much as you did. I couldn't see it, before; when I was still holding onto all of those bad emotions. Once I did let go, I knew that I had to stay, and wait for you … to see if we could put the broken pieces of a friendship that I treasured -- more than I'd realized -- back together."

"So, that's why I forgave you when I did -- not knowing if you'd heard me at all before you drifted off, and –- I waited for you." There was, I saw then, a different look in her eyes at that moment; a …conviction and faith that she rarely showed around most people.

Her faith in a friendship that had all but died totally floored me, pushing forward the shame and embarrassment I'd carried over my behavior towards her about the article and the needle; and how I'd completely mauled our friendship, to the front of my heart …

I slowly closed the distance between us, coming to stand just a few inches away from her; our eyes still locked.

Beginning to shake, I tried to speak …only to feel tears start to flow. I closed my eyes, trying to prevent them from coming, but completely helpless to -- when she suddenly pulled me into her arms, bringing my head down to rest on her shoulder with a strong hand. I just stood there, with my arms at my side, crying ... and listening to her murmuring in my ear, "ohh, baby, let it all out … it's all right, sweetie, shhh…" She led me over to the couch, gently pushing me down. My vision was blurry from the tears, when I felt her carefully climb into my lap; my arms automatically cradling her petite body against mine, as she laid her head on my shoulder.

We sat there for a while, my body slowly relaxing under her gentle ministrations. Her touches and caresses were so loving, and kind …all my body could manage to do was relax and let everything I'd kept bottled up inside out; the self-loathing, the guilt, and the pain I knew I'd caused her -- to slowly, finally be released from my bruised soul. I laid my head on the backrest of the couch, closing my eyes … breathing deeply. She gently used her palms and fingers to wipe the wetness from my face, and then dropped little kisses on my closed eyelids, forehead, and cheeks.

"Are you OK?" she whispered. I slowly nodded.

"Yeah—I think so. I didn't realize I was holding onto so much. I'm _so _sorry, Alison." She brushed a couple of her fingers across my cheek again.

"I know you are, Eric. I also realized that you hadn't quite forgiven yourself, either. All day long, it was hanging there …around you like a cloud. I knew we'd have to talk about it, or it would have stayed there between us until we dealt with it." She kept her head on my shoulder, her arms encircling my neck as I held her close.

Sniffling a little, I met her concerned look, heavily sighing. "So--how much do I have to bribe you to keep my bawling like a baby to yourself?" She softly chuckled.

"…hmm, let's see; some meals here and there … taking me to the occasional movie … holding me whenever you want … letting me kiss you whenever _I_ want — oh, and beating House up for me on command. That should just about do the trick." We both chuckled.

"Deal", I told her. She raised both eyebrows; evidently prepared for more negotiating on my part.

"You're _so_ easy." She'd started teasing me again.

"You have no idea."

"I'd like to," came her quiet reply.

"What?"

"Have some idea about how _easy_ you are." Her voice was low, and syrupy … carrying more behind it than just her words alone.

"How do we find out?" I'd matched her tone, adding a trace of innocent inquiry that wasn't fooling her.

"Well, we could try …" She leaned in, and slowly kissed me … drawing both our eyes' closed as we started exploring each other's mouths, tasting more after the dinner and wine. My hands already full with her, went exploring … causing her to moan and smile, while she kissed me, deeper and deeper. My hands wandered over her hips and legs … before slowly making their way up to her hair. She shifted back and forth in my lap, every movement causing exquisite pain. My lips reluctantly left hers to trail hot, wet kisses down her neck, across her Adam's apple, as she arched her back to give me more access …

…when we both pulled away, slightly … to catch our breaths. Her hair had come loose, flowing like a lion's mane around her head and shoulders. Her lips were swollen; her eyes filled with heat. From the look on her face, she saw the same things on my face.

"Is this?--" she began, her face just a few inches from mine.

"Should we?--" I spoke at the same moment; our joint uncertainty pretty much giving us the answer we were looking for. We studied each other for another few moments, and then, smiling sadly … she slowly slid off of my lap to stand over me, her body between the lamp and the couch. I couldn't see her face clearly, between the obscured light and her unleashed hair, but I knew what she was thinking; the same as I was. We'd come to know each other's thoughts pretty well.

It was still too soon for us.

She watched me, a cavalcade of emotions passing over her face, before she spoke again.

"I'm, um …going to go use the—", as she pointed to the back of my apartment where the bathroom was.

"Okay. Would you like some more wine?" She nodded, with a grin.

"Yes, please. Be right back." Turning away, she padded to the bathroom while I got up to add wine to our glasses; not filling hers up much, since I knew she'd be driving home later. Returning to the couch, I turned on the TV, channel-surfing until I found an old Bogart movie. Settling back on the couch, I put my feet up on the coffee table, watching what looked like the beginning of the movie while waiting for Alison to come back.

A few minutes later, she returned … coming to sit next to me, leaning against me while she stretched her legs out to get comfortable, as I draped an arm around her shoulders. She gave me a smile, settling her upper body against me, laying her head on my shoulder. Kissing her hair, I rested one hand on her waist, while one of hers found a spot on my thigh.

Once she got settled, she whispered, "Bogart movie?" I answered with an "Um hmm," … feeling a grin take hold of her face.

"You like these kinds of movies?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," she whispered. "I watch them whenever I can. I just love the older movies; everything was just so – stylish back then. And I'm a sucker for a good mystery." I nodded, having already seen that particular part of her personality.

"A real romantic, huh?" She lifted her head from my chest, and gave me a peck on my lips.

"Keep it to yourself, willya?"

"No problem."

"Good. Now, shut up and let me watch the movie."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

We'd caught the movie near the beginning, and settled in for a peaceful time on the couch. A part of me tried to follow the mystery on the screen, which another part dealt with what we'd talked about earlier. I knew that I'd struggled with how easily she'd seemed to forgive me; thinking that maybe some of her reasons, at least, hadn't made sense. I also realized that I'd left the hospital still carrying a lot of guilty feelings inside, ones that she'd obviously picked up on through the day. Instead of questioning me about them then, she'd waited; patiently holding off …until I was ready to talk.

Something a best friend would do.

I'm not sure I really deserve everything she's been so willing to give since I woke from the coma. I don't know if I'm worth waiting for, the way she waited; or whether I'm the kind of person someone like her would want to leave alone, like she did.

Maybe, though, it's not really about the kind of person I think I am at this point in time; but the kind of person she sees when she looks at me. She's been more caring, more loyal, more devoted to me than I'd had any right to expect; and when my dad told me about some of the things he'd noticed while I was still sleeping; her almost constant presence, her unwillingness to even go home, or get enough rest until I'd awakened -- well, I didn't really believe him at the time.

Now, having heard it from her own lips … about what she'd gone through in the hospital while I was still there … has made me see just how insecure, and doubting, I've been. It's not something I'm comfortable with; self-confidence has never been something I've struggled with to a certain degree.

This whole experience with Alison has shown me a lot; about myself, and about her … and, also about the kind of relationship we're building right now … and could have, in the future.

She's drifted off to sleep against me, I can tell; her breathing is even, and she's softly snoring. It's a few hours later … after the Bogart movie's ended, and the next one is already half-over; we're still there, on the couch; with me encircling her in an arm, as she lays comfortably against me. She'd only taken a few sips of her wine since dinner, while I'd finished most of what was in my own glass. Now, I could feel her warm breath through the sweatshirt I wore, and I know that if I lean forward enough, I'd see her eyes closed; half-obscured by her hair.

I think we're OK. Better than we'd been a few hours ago. We'd needed to talk. It's given me a lot to think about, and shown me some tendencies in me that I need to avoid, or manage a little better … if I don't want them to seep into our relationship. I can't let that happen.

Glancing down at the top of her head, I could easily picture many more evenings, more days like this, for us … and I smile at the thought. Still, it's been kind of a long day, and I fight a big yawn as I try not to disturb Alison. Much like a mother looking over a sick child, though, sure enough--she awakens as I yawn, looking up at me with a sleepy smile, after first looking over at the TV.

"Hey, there," she murmurs … rubbing her eyes with a hand. "You OK?" I smile at her as she wraps an arm of her own around my shoulder, scooting even closer to me.

"I'm fine, love. Just sleepy, that's all. You missed the end of the movie." She glances again at the TV, shrugging without concern.

"Seen that one before, and I guess I'm winding down, too. I should probably get on home, Eric." She looks at her watch; it's after 10PM; not too late, but judging by the amount of sleep she's missed on my account lately, I know her energy level's not what it normally is.

"You know, you could just—stay here tonight, if you want. I can take the couch—" I start, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed, Eric … you need your rest, remember? And as comfortable as this couch is, I should probably reacquaint myself with my own bed."

"There's always the futon in my spare bedroom …" I suggest. She pulls away a little, studying me.

"Do you want me to stay, Eric?" I met her questioning gaze with my own direct look.

"Yes—yes, I do, Alison. I guess I've … gotten very comfortable with the idea of you being close by while I'm sleeping." There was an undertone to my voice that carried more meaning than the words I'd used, and we both knew it.

She raised a warm hand to my face, brushing her fingers against my skin … drawing a little sigh out of me as I watch her watch her own fingers for a moment, then raise her eyes back up to mine.

"If I stayed—if I didn't leave, Eric … then I'd be sleeping next to you in bed, sweetie—or not really _sleeping_, anyway." I watched the emotions in her eyes, slowly nodding. "I wouldn't … be able to resist, being so close to you. I'm not sure it's the right time. Not because of what we talked about earlier. But because—" Her eyes moved away, towards the far wall; before slowly finding their way back to me. "—because I want to…" She stopped, not finishing the thought.

I nodded again, once. "I know, Alison. I want the same …—I want _you_. You're right, though. After this day, after everything," I ruefully shook my head a few times, with a smile that she matched in complete understanding, "we would end up … together." Now I matched her action from earlier, placing one of my hands on the side of her face … slowly caressing her skin as she leaned into my touch. "I want to please you, show you what I feel about you." Her eyes were locked on mine, holding flickering lights that reminded me of a crackling fireplace.

I slowly released a breath, shaking my head in wry amusement.

"This control thing _really, really_ bites!" She opened her eyes wider in surprise, and then burst out laughing.

"Why are we _doing _this to each other? We know how we feel about each other, we're at a good place in our relationship …" she asked, in a plaintive voice that almost made me chuckle—which might not be the best thing for her to hear from me at the moment. Instead, I gave her a little shrug.

"I think it's because we also realize how special this is … and what it cost to get to this point. Neither one of us wants to ruin things between us. Not that I think _that_—" I tilted my head towards my bedroom, "would be a 'ruin'! But if we don't give ourselves the chance to wait until the right moment--we'll both regret it. As much as I want to be with you, Alison, I'm not going to risk feeling regretful about it—or make you feel that way. I've made enough mistakes lately. So … you should probably head on home, so that we can both get a good night's sleep."

She sat next to me, listening, watching me carefully as I spoke. After another minute, she sighed, nodded, then slowly stood … pulling me up with her.

"You're right. I wish you weren't, but I know you are. I don't want to regret anything we share, either, Eric. You're way, way too special and important to me, to risk it. So …I'm going home."

I stood there, watching her pad over to her sneakers, and slip them on before retrieving her jacket and purse from my coat tree. She stood by the door, not moving … and I slowly joined her there, after slipping on my own shoes.

She waited while I opened the door, glanced out into the parking area, and then took her hand as we walked out to her car that she'd parked fairly close to my front door. We slowly strolled over to it, each of us taking deep breaths of the cool evening air that chilled our skin. She used her remote key to release the door locks, and I opened the driver side door for her, before turning back to face her.

I hadn't even finished my turn before she filled my arms, wrapping both of hers around my neck as we kissed again. This one was as deep as the ones we'd shared before, and felt like a promise we were making to each other. It was another minute or two before we finally broke it, Alison laying both hands on my chest as she leaned against me.

"You should have put a jacket on before coming out here," she softly whispered to me.

"I'm warm enough, don't worry," I told her … getting a sun-bright smile in reply. "Will you come back tomorrow? I'll make us breakfast—whenever we finally wake up; and you're back", I asked. She nodded, smiling that little smile she seemed to reserve just for me.

"That sounds perfect, Eric. Thanks." She gazed at me for another moment, then turned and climbed into her car. She started the engine, and opened her window. I leaned down to kiss her again.

"Call me when you get home, so I know you're OK."

"I will, babe. Rest, and sweet dreams." She kissed me back.

I stood, stepping away from the car … but still watching her, as she slowly put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot. I watched her until I couldn't see her rear lights anymore, and then walked back to the partly open door of my place. Closing it, I turned off the TV, kicked off my shoes again, and then padded down the hallway to bed.

I'd brushed my teeth and changed into the things I usually sleep in … gym shorts and an old t-shirt … and had climbed into bed … when my phone rang. It was Alison.

"Hey—it's me. I'm home."

"Good. I'm glad you're safe. That was fast."

"Thanks. No traffic. So … what are you making me for breakfast in the morning?" I smiled into the phone, cradling it between my ear and the pillow.

"Sorry—top secret. You'll just have to wait and see." She snorted.

"Spoilsport! I'm sure it'll be great, whatever you make. Any thoughts on what you want to do tomorrow?"

"Well …" and I added a teasing lilt to my voice, "I thought I'd cruise back on over to the supermarket, see if one of those fish ladies wanted to go see a movie with me. Think they'll be there?" I held my breath, trying not to laugh as I heard her spluttering on the other end.

"Well, Eric, I don't know -- do you think you'd get out of the _emergency room_, in time for the movie?" she gracefully threatened, trying to control her own giggling.

"Ouch! Message received and understood!! I'd much rather go with you, anyway, love."

"You'd _better_, Eric Foreman! Oh, and we should get that insurance form back to Cuddy if we can, too. She seemed pretty insistent about it."

"Oh, yeah. We'll do that after breakfast, OK?--don't let me forget."

"Yes, sir. Are you in bed?"

"Yes—you?"

"Just about. Almost finished checking the locks on my doors, while I'm talking to you. Now, I'm all set. Climbing in now, and covering myself with the comforter. OK…" she sighed, and I could tell she was getting settled under the covers. "Eric—still with me?"

"Always, hon. Thank you again for making dinner. I'm going to have to weasel the secret of your catfish out of you somehow."

"I'm so glad you liked it, kind sir. And I'm glad I didn't screw it up -- which has, unfortunately, happened before. As for getting the secret out of me—what makes you think you've got what it takes?" she teased. We were like two teenagers … talking over the phone, while lying in bed. I didn't care, though. Just talking to her was enough for me.

"Don't be challenging me, girl—I've got skills you haven't even seen yet!" I teased back.

"Oh, just wonderful — more male bragging! Do you realize that testosterone is a sedative for me?" And she proceeded to pretend to snore.

So, I "raspberried" her over the phone. There really wasn't any other choice in the matter.

"_Very_ grown-up, Mr. Foreman! -- s_o_ mature!"

"Look who's talking, 'Ms. Snore'! If you were here right now, I'd be _so _tickling you right now!!"

"No, you wouldn't—_trust_ me." She'd spoken in a completely different voice than the one she'd been using up until that moment.

I loudly gulped a couple of times; making her giggle.

"Did I quiet the big, bad neurologist with that one?"

"Oh, shut up! I'll add that one to my list."

She made a big production of yawning. "Oh, sorry—did you say something I needed to pay attention to?" Her voice had returned to the sweet, teasing one she'd been using.

"Just keep it up, girl … keep it up …," as we both laughed. There were a few moments of pleasant quiet, and then she spoke again.

"I think … if we let ourselves go, we'd talk all night on the phone. Don't get me wrong -- I would _love_ that, Eric—your voice in my ear is the_ best_ thing I could imagine going to sleep to. But, that would mean you weren't getting any rest; and I want you to _rest_, sweetie." Unwillingly, I yawned at that moment, and she chuckled again. I sighed in answer.

"Yeah, you're right. I can feel myself crashing, now that I'm under the covers and no one's here to keep me company."

"Aw, poor baby—and, just for the record -- _same here_!" she answered in an unexpectedly testy voice that made me smile.

"Hey, Alison? When you're asleep tonight, dreaming … and you see a man waiting for you on a bench in a park filled with autumn leaves, playing kids, with a little chill in the air—that'll be me. Come over and sit next to me, ok?"

There was no reply for a while, and I was beginning to wonder if she'd heard me … when she very quietly replied, in what sounded like a choked, tight voice.

"I'll be there, wearing your favorite dress with a light coat for the chill … carrying two cups of hot chocolate. We can sit and watch the kids play, and I'll rest my head on your shoulder … feeling like the luckiest girl in the world."

I sighed, my eyes closed as I listened to her add to my pretend-dream … and somehow, I knew that her eyes were closed, as well. "I'll see you there, love … good night."

"Night -- sweet dreams, baby. See you in the morning." I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.

"Bye."

"Bye, Eric." I heard her slowly hang up her end of the line, and I did the same.

Turning off the lamp next to my bed, I pulled the covers tighter … already well on my way to the park, to wait for Alison.

**END OF CHAPTER SEVEN**


	8. Chapter 8 Alison

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 8 – Alison"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None

**Author's Note:** Hey, guys! Please, _please_ review! I'm very interested in what you think of the story, the characters, and especially the dialogue. I struggle with that last part, and I need to know if I'm hitting the mark, or not. So, give me your thoughts!

**Reviewers:**

"**gatermage": **Hi … I hope that the last chapter dealt with those issues in a good way, in your mind; you're right … those were two serious, relationship-destroying incidents, and the new relationship couldn't move forward until they'd been dealt with. I wanted to portray what I thought would be in Alison's mind while Eric was still in the coma; how I'd balance the feelings I thought I saw in her during the last part of "Euphoria II" with what a typical person would be thinking and feeling afterward. I hope that what I came up with made sense, and rang true. I hate stories that don't do either, and it's the last thing I want to do here. Also, any numbskull can write an "Eric and Alison make up, listen to their animal natures, fall into bed, and have wild, passionate sex" story. I didn't. The actors, and the people they portray, are better than that. Hopefully, my writing is better than that, too.

"**Prefect Rachel":** I appreciate it! You know, that part didn't occur to me until I was actually in the process of writing the end of the chapter! I was trying to think of a cool, romantic way for them to say good night to each other – and that just popped into my head! As for them acting silly – that, to me, is a sign of two people who are really involved with each other, and who enjoy making the other person laugh and smile! I hope you like the rest of the story, and thanks for the review!

"**Nikelodean":** I'm so glad you like the story! I can't believe they've waited this long, either!  Still, it's what real life should be, in my opinion.

**Alison**

Well, we'd finally had it. The "TALK". The one where we discuss, not all of the good parts of the last few weeks … but the bad ones. The things that happened 'BEFORE'.

Eric was nervous, even though he hid it well … and me? Well, I was scared. Two very good reasons to avoid what we both knew had to happen, eventually.

While we were talking, I realized something. I hadn't really let go of some of the feelings I'd experienced during that period. When I told Eric that I'd hated him … that was very hard for me to say. But it was the truth. I did, and I had to tell him that … knowing that it might be one of the things, THE thing, that might ruin what we'd found together afterward. I was so afraid of that possibility, I almost _didn't_ tell him. Standing there at his window … I'd never felt so uncomfortable in his presence before. The urge to make a joke, or divert the direction of our conversation … or even to bolt from the apartment – was very strong.

All of those things, I'd done in past relationships. When I didn't understand what kind of work it took to make a relationship work, to build it, and feel it take hold within me. When I wasn't as mature about things as I am now.

House thinks I'm basically a naïve person who hasn't experienced life, or the pains of life, to grow enough of a tough exterior for survival. He's always mocked that part of me.

What he's never realized, the master behavioral profiler that he thinks he is … is that I haven't experienced a lot of _his_ pains; just my own. Which makes a world of difference between us.

He's never had to bury a spouse. Or go through life having people judge him by his exterior, before they even thought to give the rest of him, the _real _him, a chance. Or of watching his family turn away from him because he loved someone so much, he was willing to marry them – even knowing that they wouldn't be with him for long.

On the other hand, I don't pretend to know the depths of House's pains, either. Even though I've shown him that I was willing to try; which is more than he's ever showed me.

No … when it comes to one of the most basic ways people can connect with – their shared pain – House and I never clicked. And never would.

But Eric … Eric's been the one person, except maybe for Wilson, who's really looked behind my masks and pain. Chase never tried to understand or deal with my attraction to House. His response was, more often than not, either overt or subtle ridicule. Not so with Eric. Even though I always knew that he shared some of Chase's frustrations about my "infatuation", he never sank to the level of judging me, or dismissing my feelings outright.

Last night, when we talked about the pains we'd experienced together … it was more of a bonding time than something to dredge up and throw in the other person's face. We talked, really listened to each other, and ended the evening on a very good note. I went to sleep -- not next to him, as I'd have liked -- but closer than ever to his heart. And when he told me about the shared dream we might have together … I completely, seriously, lost my voice for a few seconds. When he talks that way with me … well, I'm not even going to bother denying it anymore. I'm falling for him, in a big way. And it's not just the words, or his smile, or the way he looks at me.

He's become a magnet for my soul, and I feel his pull on me constantly ... not just when we're physically close, but -- all the time.

I woke earlier than usual today, after a deep, restful sleep that left me feeling much more rested than I'd been lately. I guess I really needed a night in my own bed again. Now I'm wandering around my apartment; doing little tasks, keeping myself occupied … while these thoughts are flowing through my brain. I woke up, smiling, still thinking about the shared dream we talked about on the phone last night before bed.

Did we meet there? Were we sitting together, watching the kids play around us … drinking hot chocolate as we'd talked about?

I honestly don't remember.

Some dreams stay with me after I've awakened from sleep, and that's one I wish had been one of those. But, all I had when I woke up was a smile on my face.

Which was enough for me.

Still in my bedroom, I stretched, and walked over to the window. It was early dawn, and I could still see a few stars out in the upper sky. Their light twinkled in the chilled air, and I reminded myself to bring a warm jacket with me when I headed back over to Eric's. The horizon between the low buildings that surrounded my apartment glowed with bands of different colored light from the rising sun. Everything looked so peaceful, and beautiful. I had a half-thought of calling him, but it was far too early yet; I wanted him to rest as much as possible. He's still recovering from the parasite, and if we spent the entire week napping, not straying far from a couch … that would be just fine with me. As far as my own sleep, last night was something I'd really needed; I hadn't realized just how tired I was until I settled underneath my comforter after hanging up with Eric last night. I was asleep not two minutes later.

Remembering that Eric said he'd make breakfast for us this morning, I held off on going into my own kitchen to start a meal. Especially since, given the way the past couple of weeks have been, I haven't had much of a chance to go shopping myself -- and my refrigerator was as bare as Eric's had been, before we went grocery shopping.

So, he's better feed me well … or he'd hear about it, I thought to myself, chuckling in the darkness. I pulled the comforter off of the bed, and went into the living room … which faced the east and the sunrise. Sprawling on my couch and tucking my legs underneath, wrapping the comforter around me, I left all of the lights off in order to watch the natural ones coming in through the curtains of my windows. As long as I could remember, I've always enjoyed getting up to watch the sun rise; my father used to tell me, when I was a little girl, that the sun wiped all of the bad dark things from the previous day when it rose in the sky. Thinking about him, I wonder what his reaction to Eric would be. Probably on the complicated side of things, no doubt; but the heart of the matter, to him, would be if Eric made me happy.

Wow – are we getting just a _little_ ahead of ourselves here, Alison? I ask myself.

I gently smile again as I think about how I would answer that question from him; if he hadn't already seen the answer in me. My dad knows me better than anyone else in the world, and it was his unconditional love that got me through a pretty difficult teen period. I lost count of the times he rocked me to sleep during one of my crying fests after a particularly hard day of junior high or high school. He wasn't the only one; Mom's loving ways were always there, too -- but I am _definitely_ my daddy's girl. There's just a sense of … strength, and permanence in him … that I've always relied on and held onto. His wry sense of humor, his way of getting me to look at things through finding my own answers to questions, rather than his; and his kid-at-heart way with my brother, sister, and I were the joys of my youth.

I love my father dearly, and I hope that I have the chance to introduce him to Eric someday. I think they would like each other – a lot.

I get up to get something to drink from the refrigerator. All I have is grapefruit juice and, filling a small cup from the disk drainer, I return to the couch. My thoughts are wandering, flitting around in several directions at once. Most of them are of the "what if?" kind; you know, "What if I buy a dog?", or "What if I get rid of my noisy neighbor?" Mine revolve around this new direction my life has taken with Eric. I idly wonder about the first time Eric and I encounter someone who's rude and disdainful of our relationship in public. About the first time one of our friends turns away from us, because they disapprove. About the first time a black woman gives me the evil eye, because I'm with a black man.

About how things will be, and work -- at work.

I don't have any doubts that we'll be able to be complete professionals while we're working and treating patients. Or in any other professional setting; for that matter. We may be on fellowships … but we're not green interns. Both Eric and I are intimately familiar with hospital grapevines, and what they can do to careers. No, the real question … the thing that concerns me the most … is what House's presence will do to us. The constant pressure of his looks, comments, and attitudes, and the toll they may take. House isn't prejudiced –- even though he's said some pretty harsh things to Eric over time – but the "history" he and I have had; well, that may be an issue. I have to believe, though, that we'll be able to handle it. And, as long as we do our work and keep House satisfied on that end … then there won't be any major problems—other than dealing with House himself.

Hi, have I introduced myself? I'm "Wishful-Thinking Alison" – good to meet you!! Yeah, _right..._

I wince at the possibilities, downing the last of my grapefruit juice.

As bad as that might get, though… it's the times out in public that worry me the most. Should I bring this up with Eric? Or wait until something happens first? I'm not exactly sure what to do. I've never been in this situation before spending time with a man from another race. God, I _hate_ how that sounds – like people who aren't toned like me are alien, off-limits … _different. _Some of the guys -- white guys -- that I've dated … I wouldn't give a plug nickel for, as my grandmother would say. I would have been so disappointed with myself if I'd let those relationships continue past their more-than-overdue dates.

Eric, though … he's not like the others.

Being black is, to me, his least distinguishing characteristic. I've always thought he's physically attractive. He's also smart, funny, kind, thoughtful … and he makes me laugh. I feel …alive … with him. Secure. Like I could always be myself, and even though he likes to tease me … he's never ridiculed the person that I am.

Sure, he told me, while he was ill, that all of the things that drove him nuts about me as a doctor were exactly the things he wanted in a medical proxy. Even though his words were pretty harsh to hear, know what that told me? That the inner core of my being, the things that made _me_ who I really am -- were the exact things he could rely on, and hang onto, to save him.

In what could have been his last, final hours of life.

I looked into his eyes as he said those things to me. Even through all of the pain, the anger, and the fear inside … he was willing to trust me with the most important thing he had; his life.

And now … he's shown me parts of his heart that I hadn't seen before … and has led me to do the same with my own, with him.

I guess I could imagine, and expect, the worst about what we're starting together; knowing in advance the stress, tensions, and problems that will cause. I don't want to do that. Set myself, and us, up for a fall.

It doesn't matter if the world gives us a chance or not.

What matters … is whether we do.

When Eric told me last night that he wanted me to stay … my heart did flips in my chest. I was afraid, in a small part of myself that I didn't want to acknowledge … that he would push me away at some point; having been as grateful to me as he thought he needed to be. That wasn't what I saw on his face, and heard in his voice, though. He was, I think, afraid; afraid that I'd pull away from him, putting space between us on our 'inevitable' glide back towards a purely professional relationship.

Then, we kissed in the parking lot before I drove away … and we both _knew_ something had been cemented; something would be built, and grown, and nurtured. It was a kiss of … promise. That we'd be there for each other, whatever the other person needed. I felt it, and I know Eric did, too. It was in his eyes, as I drove off. I glanced at him in my rearview mirror, watching him as he watched me drive away.

I saw it, the smile that was on his face; the same one that was on mine. It was the same one I woke up with.

The sky outside was now filled with fruity oranges and light yellows, filling my windows with the light of a new day. Glancing over at the small travel bag that sat by the door, I sighed. I wrestled with the decision of whether to pack one or not, because I still wasn't sure how this week would go between us. I'm pretty certain my days would be spent with Eric, but the nights …

I sighed again, drawing my knees up to my chest underneath the comforter in the cool faint light of my living room. My logical, practical brain would chalk it up to just being practical; after all, if I end up staying later than usual at his place, and the weather turns … there'd be no need to drive home and risk an accident.

That sounds good – right?

Ah, but … the other side of me, the side that feels … would say, "Yeah, but you know you want to sleep in his bed, beside him, don't you? You want to watch him sleep, enjoy the feel of his body next to yours, and wake up in his arms."

Yeah -- so what?

Okay; note to self: it looks like musings about relationships and grapefruit juice, don't a good combination make.

Sigh.

It's Ok, the way I feel drawn to him. Yes, it's partly physical; the man _is_ very handsome. I've seen ten different women manage to strike up conversations with him at a bar over the course of an evening; and I proceeded to tease him unmercifully about it. Still, he's what some of my girlfriends would call "man-candy," and a few of them who've had the chance to see or meet him have barraged me with questions about my own interest in Eric. I laughed it off, of course; we'd been colleagues, friends, for so long at that point… it was just easiest to think of him that way.

Especially since he'd never shown any interest in me more than friendship, back before the article.

I remember, back in the early springtime, when my birthday had come around … he, Chase, Wilson, and Cuddy took me out for drinks at this fancy place Cuddy frequented, but was a bit 'highbrow' for the rest of us. They'd all brought gifts, and Eric's was a seashell that had a natural impression of lines that looked like a compass on the inside. He'd packed it carefully, and explained what it meant while I opened the package.

"I found that on a beach near my cousin's house in California about twenty years ago, Alison -- and I've always thought that it was a kind of talisman for me; you know, something to guide my way as I moved through life."

I looked at him in shock; obviously, it meant a lot to him, and the fact that he'd kept it for so long … and now, he wanted me to have it …

"Eric, this is—wonderful, but … are you sure? I mean, it obviously means a lot to you, and …" I started to protest.

He startled me by putting his hand over mine as we side by side sat in our booth … the others having drifted off to see if the bartender had any good "Happy Birthday" music to play over the bar sound system. As you might guess, they were all a little sauced by then; Eric, however, was staying with club sodas – since he was the designated driver for the evening - and me sticking to the lighter drinks. He shrugged, giving me one of his lopsided smiles that looked even cuter up close.

"Everyone needs a little direction in life sometimes, Alison … and this shell has given me more than enough. Now, it's time to share it with someone else."

My eyes watered a little as I listened to him share something precious with me, and I didn't know quite what to say; except to smile and nod. I quickly leaned over and kissed him on his cheek, but very near his mouth. He was shocked for a moment, before recovering.

"Wow -- maybe I should have gotten you a diamond instead." We both laughed.

"Oh, shut up, you -- wiseass!" I finally replied after regaining enough of my voice to speak. Eric just grinned -- before suddenly reaching over to try to take the shell back from me.

"Well, if you're going to be rude about it, I'll just take it back!" I snatched it away from his grasp.

"No way, pal! You gave it to me, and it's mine now! You wouldn't want the whole world to know you're an 'Indian giver,' would you?" I stuck out my tongue at him.

"That's not the worst thing you've ever called me," he retorted. "Remember, for my birthday – you got up in one of my favorite places, and announced to everyone that 'Eric Foreman was one sexy, but _second-best_, doctor!' at the top of your lungs? I had _strangers_ hanging all over me for the next two hours!" By the end of his protesting speech, I was laughing so hard, I leaned against him to catch my breath.

"I apologized for that, didn't I? At least … I _thought _I did, anyway – that whole night is still kind of a blur for me, even now. But I do remember my _little_ announcement!" I said, with an evil grin.

"There was nothing 'little' about something like _that,_ in the middle of two hundred and fifty people – not to mention the indignity of having your boss's boss 'verify' it with anyone who'd ask – _including_ the males!"

I couldn't help it – I burst out laughing again, especially after the glowering look Eric gave me as we sat. He looked like he was going to cross his arms in another second, and begin tapping his feet in anger -- which only made me laugh even harder.

Chuckling again while thinking about that night, I turned over on my couch and reached up to the small shelf on the wall above me, where the box he'd given me that held the shell still sat; as it had since I brought it home that night. Pulling it down, and opening it (he'd somehow found a lovely jeweled box to hold the shell in, along with the added touch of a little sand on the bottom. The inside of the box was painted light blue to match the sea; it was beautiful), I studied it again. It was one of the best gifts I'd ever received, from someone who, at the time, I'd only known and been working with for about four months or so.

There was a moment, a few weeks back -- when, in a fit of anger, I'd almost tossed his present in the garbage. At the time, I didn't want anything in my place reminding me of him; not even one of my favorite all-time gifts.

I'm so glad that I decided to keep it.

Smiling again, I glance at the clock on the mantle; 6:45AM. If I took a shower, got dressed, and then headed over to his place … I could make it by 7:30 or so. I'd just use my keys to get in, and if he was still sleeping … wait for him to wake up, so I could demand he feed me.

Sounds like a plan, I told myself. Nodding firmly, I replaced the shell box on the shelf, gathered up my comforter, and headed for the shower.

After dressing in khaki pants with a long-sleeved knit shirt, and taking a warmer jacket from my closet, I picked up the travel bag from its' place by the front door, and headed to my car. Somehow, I'd figured out the best, fastest way to get there; which means we were only less than ten minutes apart. The trip took even less time, with so little traffic on the roads at that hour; I was pulling into his complex about seven minutes later. Moving the travel bag to the trunk, since we had to make a couple of trips today (the hospital, to return the insurance form Cuddy'd brought over last night; also, Eric mentioned we might go to a movie later), and I didn't want to give him too many ideas about my intentions when he first saw the bag … I locked the car and walked to his front door. One of the good things about his place is that he lived on the ground floor; no stairs, unlike mine, which was on the second floor of my unit.

Using my new set of keys, I quietly unlocked his door and slipped into the silent apartment. Everything was still dark, since his place didn't face the part of the sky that the sun rose in every day. Through the semidarkness of the living room and the hallway leading to his bedroom, I could see that his bedroom door was partly open. I slipped off my jacket and shoes as quietly as I could, put the jacket on the coat rack by the door, my purse on the coffee table, and silently padded down the short hallway.

Pausing at the door, I could see him in bed, soundly sleeping, his regular breathing the only movement in the room. Thanking the stars that he had thick carpeting, I carefully moved over to the bed. He was burrowed pretty deeply under the layers of blankets he used, and I hoped I wouldn't wake him.

Picking up one corner of the topmost covers, I slid slowly and carefully under the blankets, making no sudden movements as I moved as close to him as I could. The bed was warm and inviting, the blankets carrying his scent to my nose. I made it to the set of pillows next to his, and gently arranged myself next to him … our legs and feet slightly brushing up against each other as we both adjusted our position; him, still in sleep, and me, trying not to wake him. Finally, I was settled, covered up very nicely, laying there … watching the back of his head as he mumbled a little.

I stayed that way, the room gradually getting lighter and lighter with the start of a new day, when he turned over --moving very close to me under the covers. I held my breath, waiting for him to wake at my presence; I'd placed their hand on his chest between us in a reflex motion when he'd moved over to the side of the bed I was on (I didn't want him to roll over me), and stayed as still as I could.

A few seconds later, I watched his eyes slowly open, and I smiled.

"Alison?" he whispered, his voice heavy with sleep. I rubbed his t-shirt covered chest a few times.

"Shh, I'm so sorry -- didn't mean to wake you, sweetie," I whispered. "Go back to sleep; its' early still." He sighed, reaching up to run a warm hand along my shoulder, causing me to slide even closer to him. I saw his half-open eyes study my face, my hair … and then his face crinkled into one of those crooked-cute grins that always melted me.

"You're here…" he said, after another minute of us quietly watching each other.

"I'm here … I missed you, so I snuck in." I answered with a grin of my own … hoping he'd drift back off to sleep.

Instead, he moved even closer, leading me to move my hand and arm that was lying between us, to his waist; at the same time his arm moved to gather me into a hug; pulling me closer against him. I closed my eyes, sighed deeply against him, and nuzzled his chest … while his hand ran idly over my back.

"'M glad you did, love…" he spoke so quietly, I almost missed it. By then, our legs had wrapped around each other's, not leaving much room left between us. I smiled against his chest, feeling him bury his face in my hair.

"Shhh … enough sweet talk … go on back to sleep, Eric," I told him; my pleasure at his using my 'pet' name for me, along with some relief, in my voice.

"OK, Doctor 'A'." I smiled against his chest again.

Can you believe this guy? Romancing me, even half-asleep … I closed my eyes and let out a contented sigh, feeling myself float away … wrapped in the warmth of his body.

An hour or so later, I woke from a light sleep to see two brown eyes watching me, above a big grin on a dark face that was easier to see in the stronger light now filling the room.

"Morning, Alison. This is a nice present – you being here in my bed," he whispered, a raised eyebrow and teasing lilt in his sleepy voice. I stretched my back as much as I could, while still leaning against him; finally meeting his look. "I thought I was dreaming, at first. But then, my 'dream' Alison would _never _admit to sneaking, so ..." I giggled, trying to brush some of my unruly hair away from the rest of my face.

"_Very _funny, 'Mr. Comic Man.' Because this is a brand new day, I refuse to stoop to your lowbrow level of so-called 'conversation', this early. And, by the way -- good morning to you, too. I'm sorry about surprising you like that; I guess you've taught me a little _too_ well about entering other people's premises. How do you feel?" I reached up to run a couple of fingers against his cheek, and his eyes closed slightly at my touch.

"Oh, pretty good, honey. The 'student' finally snatches the pebble from the 'master's' hand, hmm?" He leans over to kiss me, as I chuckle at his joke. "Breakfast, as promised, will be in about 45 minutes. Stay in bed and sleep some more; I'll come wake you when it's ready." I nodded, giving him another grin. I was so at ease here with him, I didn't want to move an inch. His bed was _definitely_ more comfortable than mine. I reluctantly watched him slide out from under the bedcovers, grab some sweats from his dresser along with some other things, and silently slip into the bathroom. A minute later, I heard the shower start, and I turned over … already missing his presence and warmth. I must have dozed right off soon afterward; because the next thing I knew, he was gently shaking my shoulder.

"Hey, there, beautiful – do you want to eat now, or should I put it in the oven?" He sat next to me, on the edge of the bed, an apron around his waist; his New England Patriots team logo sweats (coordinated, I could see) carrying some enticing aromas with him.

"mmmm … it smells great, Eric – what are we having?" I yawned softly, giving him a bright smile from beneath my mussed hair.

"I thought I'd make you Eggs Benedict, pancakes, bacon, and cinnamon rolls with raspberry jam. Oh, and coffee, of course. I know you can't get going without at least one cup." He was anxiously studying my face, watching to see if he'd hit the mark with the menu. I gaped at him.

"_You_ made Eggs Benedict? For me?" I loved Eggs Benedict, and I was trying to remember when I'd mentioned that around him before. Or when anyone had made it for me; outside of a restaurant that even had it on the menu.

Eric raised an eyebrow, while managing to look proud of himself at the same time. "Yes, I did – figured you'd like it, and yes, for you. I prefer my eggs scrambled, or over-easy, myself. I _told _you before, girl – I've got _skills_."

Raising a hand, I solemnly looked into his face, smiling. "No further questions, Your _handsome_ Honor. Thank you, sweetie … what a wonderful thing to do." I sat up, kissing his cheek … his smile widening even more.

"Well, everything's set, so come on out when you're ready." Standing, he gave my hair a playful brush before silently padding out of the room, pulling the door almost closed behind him. I watched him go, thinking that he seemed more … himself, today. There appeared to be less of the confused air around him that you sometimes saw with people who'd recently come out of comas, and I was very happy to see it. Going with him into the hospital later today to deliver that form now seemed more of a positive step; once Cuddy and the rest hopefully saw this latest change in his demeanor. I yawned, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, reluctantly leaving its' comfort … crossing the room to use the bathroom, and work on my hair a little bit.

Once I'd finished, I spent a few moments straightening the bed before leaving the bedroom, following the great aromas and flavors my hungry stomach were now growling over. Moving past the living room, I came to the entrance of the kitchen – and stopped in surprise.

Eric stood there, his apron now hanging from a hook on the wall next to the kitchen table, which had been set with a lot of care; including the flowers I'd brought over for him a couple of days ago, sitting right in the middle between two steaming plates of food, a carafe of coffee, a pitcher of orange juice, and next to my plate with the promised Eggs Benedict – a small bowl of strawberries, lightly covered with cream.

I looked from the table, to him, and then back to the table … slowing shaking my head. He slid over to my chair, pulling it out for me and guiding me into it, since I apparently hadn't yet regained control of my body. He chuckled at what was apparently on my face, and I sent a fake glare at him as he seated me.

"You just _stop_ laughing at me, Eric Foreman –- this is … I've never … I mean," I was so taken by surprise at the care and time he'd taken to make breakfast for me; I couldn't seem to form complete sentences. It had been years since anyone had gone to this much trouble over me, and I felt a single tear drop from my watery eyes as I sat. Eric kneeled down next to me, and I turned to face him … his strong, warm arm covering the back of my chair.

"You deserve this _every_ day, girl. You should be treated like the treasure you are." I was drowning in his deep brown eyes, eyes that grew larger as his face drew closer to mine. I felt my eyelids close just before his lips reached mine, and we both forgot time and place as our kisses danced and merged around each other's. After a period of time that didn't seem nearly long enough, we broke the kiss to breathe, Eric holding my eyes with his as he slowly, slowly stood …then moved over to his chair -- sitting next to me, rather than on the other side of the table, as we did last night. It meant that we were closer to each other, which wasn't a problem for me at all.

We ended our locked gaze, placing our napkins in our laps and then picking up our forks to eat the amazingly great-smelling food in front of us. As he mentioned, he'd made his eggs scrambled, with what looked like a sprinkle of tarragon along with parsley on top, in addition to two pancakes and a couple of strips of bacon. My plate had the Eggs Benedict by itself, sprinkled with some cilantro and what looked like …

I took a first bite of my filled fork, raising it to my lips while I sensed Eric watching. As I tasted the wonderful flavors of one of my favorite dishes, my eyebrows raised when my taste buds confirmed what I thought my nose had detected … slowly swallowing and, closing my eyes with a small moan, I opened them again to look at Eric.

"Cinnamon?" I asked him. He nodded.

"Like it?" he replied, still carefully watching my reactions. I nodded enthusiastically, bringing a big smile to his face.

"It's so good, Eric! What gave you the idea?" I dug into the rest of it, along with my side dishes of pancakes and bacon, while Eric filled my cup with coffee and his glass with orange juice.

"Saw it on a show somewhere, and remembered it this morning. Thought this was a good time to try it, since you always take the cinnamon donuts when we have them in the office. By the way, I can make more pancakes if you want. There's enough blueberries left." I paused in stuffing my face to glance down at my pancakes; they _were_ indeed blueberry. I looked at him again.

"How did you manage to make all this so fast? And _when_ did you get the blueberries – I don't remember you buying any at the store yesterday." Not waiting for him to answer, I continued eating, adding generous sips of the delicious coffee he'd made.

"They snuck into the cart while you were looking over the wines, honey." He smiled around a full mouth of food, and then took a long drink of orange juice. I looked at him, my brain reviewing our time in the store.

"So _that's_ where you snuck off to! I thought you were up to no good, but you were just doing this …"

"Just goes to show you should have more faith in your fellow man. Now, with my hurt feelings at being the victim of your suspicious nature, I may just have to wait _months_ before I make you blueberry pancakes again." He said the last part in a mournful voice; but all I heard was 'months' … which was, in my book, cause for great concern. These were some of the best pancakes I'd ever tasted. I plastered the most contrite look I knew how to manage on my face before turning to him.

"Please, _please_ forgive me, O great one! I promise – if you make this for me again soon, I'll _never_ be suspicious of your naturally sneaky and underhanded ways again – I swear!"

By the time I'd finished with my most solemn oath, spoken in as serious a manner as I could manage without bursting out in laughter, he was laughing so hard, there was a good chance of him spewing his food out of his mouth. I reached over, handing him his juice, and he took a quick swallow, trying to get himself back under control … while I watched, a satisfied look on my face.

"Stop it, Alison – you're killing me!" I switched on my strongest glare, made even more effective by the intimidating smile I added to it.

"If you make me wait months before I get any more blueberry pancakes from you, mister, I _will_ kill you!" After giving him a sweet smile, I returned to my food …enjoying the stunned silence from his place next to me.

"Ok -- now you're scaring me." I giggled, more from the look on his face than what he'd said, and pointed at the rest of the food on his plates. "_Eat!_ And, no, you don't have to make any more pancakes – _this_ time. All this is nicely filling me up, and you wouldn't like me as much if I got fat." He snorted.

"With _your_ body, metabolism, and healthy habits? Yeah, right – like _that'll_ happen!" He was shaking his head as he finished his bacon. I gave him a look.

"Well, thanks-–I think. I didn't always look this way, you know. I had my "phases" growing up, and I didn't worry much about my diet until my senior year of high school."

He slowed in his eating, watching me as I answered. There was another minute or so of silence, while I wondered to myself what he was thinking; when he suddenly got up from the table, walking quickly to his bedroom.

"Eric? Where are you—I didn't say something wrong, did I?" I asked, puzzled by his change in behavior, watching his retreating back.

"No, you didn't – keep eating, I'll be right back," he replied, before entering the bedroom and heading, it sounded, over to his closet. I heard boxes being moved around, a few grunts, and then he returned to the table … carrying a photo album. Stopping next to me, he opened it, turned to a few pages located about halfway in, and then silently handed it to me before taking his seat again.

I looked at him for a moment, and then turned to the pages in the book he'd given me. They were family photos, I saw right away; there were many group pictures of people, two of whom I recognized right away. There was a pretty woman who had to be Eric's mother, a younger male who must be one of his two brothers, and a little girl who couldn't be any younger than six or so, in most of the pictures.

She looked like a sister, but he'd never mentioned one to me. I wonder if anyone at work, outside of HR, knew Eric had a sister.

What really shocked me, though, was the young man standing next to Eric's father, and who looked just like Eric – except, with about 25 pounds more weight, on a much smaller frame than he carried now. I glanced up from the pictures to Eric, who seemed to be interested only in the remains of the food on his plate. I looked back at the photos; turning over a few pages … the younger Eric carried more weight during his teens, than he did now.

"This … was you?" I quietly asked, immediately regretting the tone of what my voice sounded like. He slowly nodded, still not meeting my eyes.

"Yeah … I really struggled with my weight, from the beginning of grade school till I got to college. Tried just about everything, too – except for playing sports because I quickly gave up in embarrassment, or tried to get enough exercise any other way. Suffice to say, those _weren't_ my best years growing up."

I swallowed, studying the look on his young face in the pictures; seeing shame, defensiveness, and even embarrassment in them. In most of them, he was the only member of the family not smiling.

"Eric, I…" I didn't know quite what to say to him, knowing that he wasn't interested in hearing any platitudes from me. I cleared my throat, and tried again.

"You must have had a turning point, though. You're so athletic now."

He grunted. "Well, it took one too many one-time dates in high school, on the few times I even got dates, before I finally decided I needed to do something. My dad – it's funny, he was always like, 'it's what you think of yourself on the inside that counts' and all that stuff; never really pushing me to play, and stay with, sports." I nodded; my mom was the same way. "My brother and sister, though … they were the trophy winners in the family – everything from badminton to football. I was the one getting the chess and science awards, for all the good it did me at the time."

I laid a hand on his arm, while closing the album and placing it on the far corner of the table. "Eric, you were – and are –extremely intelligent. You should never regret or apologize for that. And babe," he watched my face, seeing my smile at him, "you are one handsome man! You had it rough, yeah -- but you remade yourself, while keeping all the very good parts; for which I am _very_ grateful." My hand had, by the time I'd finished, moved to his face … my fingers slowly caressing his strong cheek while I spoke. I could see in his eyes how much he loved it when I did that. He watched my face for a few seconds, and then took my hand from his face, kissing it.

"Thank you very much. You're embarrassing me. Where _were_ you, when I was in school?" he quipped.

I gave a not-very-ladylike snort. "Wading through tons and tons of jerks and self-absorbed fools who just wanted to make a 'conquest'; instead of getting to know _me_. Where, pray tell, were _you_ while I was suffering so?" I gave him both raised eyebrows with my plaintive question; and as I'd hoped, he laughed.

"Too far away from you, that's for sure…" he answered in a serious voice; and I caught my breath, nodding.

"I feel the same way." He raised both eyebrows in surprise.

"Yeah?"

"Definitely." I leaned over for a kiss, which he gladly shared. "Finished? I'll do the dishes…"

"You don't have to, Alison—I can get them." I shook my head, starting to gather the dishes to take them over to the sink for rinsing, before loading the dishwasher. "That's OK, Eric. I really don't mind. Anyway, you cooked, so I'm happy to clean; _this_ time, that is." I gave him a warning look not to count on this for the future. He grinned.

"Okay—you talked me into it. But I'm doing the dishes next, right?"

"Sure thing, sweetie. Now go, shoo, so I can finish in here." I waved him away, smiling at him over my shoulder as I stood at the sink.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm going to have another cup of juice, listen to some music, and start on that form for Cuddy; then call home in a bit."

"Good ideas, all – why are you still here?" I teased him, glancing over my shoulder at him while I stood at the sink rinsing dishes.

"Oh, just admiring the view from the back, that's all," was his saucy reply. I slowly turned around, a wet dishcloth in my hand, that I was slowly balling up in a threatening manner. "Down, boy! Now—git!" I turned back around towards the sink again, a grin on my face—when I felt two strong arms suddenly wrap around me.

"I love you being here with me, Alison," he whispered to my ear, nuzzling it in one of the spots he'd already discovered I was most vulnerable to. This was danger for me, for us … every time he touched me there, at that particular spot on the base of my neck, whether it was deliberate or accidental … my brain tends to just short out. He knows it, too.

The stinker.

He was suddenly gone as quickly as he'd reached me, and I was again in awe at his quiet speed. He seemed to just 'flit' from one place to another whenever he needed to, making hardly any sound whatsoever. Had to try to figure out how he did that. He'd picked up the photo album from where I'd left it on the table, returning it to its' place in his bedroom closet. I thought about everything we'd talked about while rinsing all of the glasses and dishes, stacking the dishwasher carefully, listening to the soft music Eric had tuned the stereo to. A few minutes later, I heard him return to the living room, the chair at the small desk he kept there squeaking a little as he sat in it. I imagined he'd started on Cuddy's form.

The rest of the dishes and plates quickly went into the dishwasher, and I poured myself another cup of coffee from the carafe I left standing on the warming plate he kept on his counter, before drying my hands and returning to the living room. He was indeed at the desk, concentrating on the form … so I went and found a spot on the couch near enough to him, but still giving him space in case he was having trouble with either reading or writing.

People in Eric's state; having recently had a brain biopsy, as well as a sickness that affects the neurological systems, sometimes have trouble using certain motor skills. I haven't noticed any obvious symptoms in him like tremors, memory loss, or definite hand-eye coordination so far; still, I was aware that things like that were likely in some form or another at some point during his recovery. Skills like writing and reading can be challenges at times, and I'd decided, while Eric was still recovering in the hospital, that I would give him the space he needed to deal with anything that occurred. Eric is a proud man, and it isn't easy for him to ask for help. As his doctor, and as his friend, I was committed to pointing things out to him that I thought he might be deliberately avoiding, or offering help when I thought he needed it.

But I had also decided, based on how well I knew him, that I wouldn't put him in any uncomfortable situations that would embarrass him – unless his health depended on it. On that score, I was determined not to let anything, including his pride, get in the way of him regaining full function and being the great doctor people needed him to be.

And the wonderful guy I wanted him to keep being.

So, I didn't volunteer any help while I heard him muttering at times over the form, deciding to wait until he asked me.

"Hey, um -- Alison?"

"Yeah, Eric?" I looked away from idly watching dust motes float in the air … while humming along to the music coming from the speakers, to him.

"I'm having some trouble making out some of these words on the form … can you--?" I gave him a gentle smile and a nod. "Sure, sweetie – just let me get my reading glasses first. The coffee hasn't quite kicked in yet." I stood and went to my purse, sitting on the counter where he'd moved it to, in order to give us enough room for our breakfast, and pulled out my glasses. Noticing a little smile on his face as I came back over to him, I asked, my hands on my hips, "What?" He shrugged, smiling a little more when he saw the glasses on my face. "It's just that you look so …cute …wearing glasses," he said. I huffed at him, pretending to be miffed.

"Yeah, uh huh - that's exactly what you were thinking. I know you, and what you_ really_ think of my glasses -- so just spit it out!"

"No—seriously! _Chase_ is the one who thinks you look 'grandmotherly' in them -- not me!" He was chuckling, even while I was slowly balling both fists in his full view.

Just give me the frakkin' form!" I snatched it from him, pretending to be miffed, and giving him a nasty look in answer to the gleam in his eyes. He watched as I studied the form.

"'Frakkin,' hmm? _Someone_ watches 'Batterstar Galactica, I see!" he teased. "It's part 'D', middle of the page. I can't make out the small print." I nodded, glancing at the area he'd indicated.

"And what if I do? Someone's going to get a punch in the nose if he doesn't start behaving!" I half-heartedly threatened. Geeze, _I _was having trouble reading this stuff—what is it with lawyers and their small print, anyway? I finally read enough to get a glimmer of understanding of all the mumbo-jumbo legal terms. "Looks like you're agreeing to not 'hold the hospital responsible for any mistakes or misdiagnoses made during the treatment of your Illness.'" Sounded kinda fishy to me. "Maybe we should ask a lawyer about this. Well--you should, anyway. As your doctor, it'd look strange, if I do it." Eric glanced from me, to the form, and back; a look of concern on his face.

"You really think I should hold off on getting it signed and back to Cuddy before having a lawyer look it over? I've never seen that particular form before in any hospital paperwork."

"Neither have I," I told him. "Might be some new procedure the board put in to forestall malpractice suits. I guess, if you're happy with the treatment you received, and you recover fully – there's no reason not to sign. I'm not sure what to tell you, Eric. You know how they're always telling us to remember the malpractice aspect of everything we do…"

"I know, and that makes me mad, to be honest with you." he replied, shaking his head. "I've got enough on my mind trying to cure someone, without worrying about the insurance stuff. I'm more than happy with my treatment, since I participated in it to a degree, myself," he grinned at me, and I returned it. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't protect myself, I guess, in case…" his voice trailed off, and I knew what he was thinking. Putting the form down on the desk, I kneeled next to his chair.

"You're not sure whether you'll get everything back?"

He reached over, idly played with my hair, before answering. Something else I loved him doing. "Anything's possible. Like I told you before, I have other options if I can't do the job. But; god, I'd miss it." He gave me a wry grin, along with a sigh.

"You're _not _going to miss it, Eric -- cause you're not losing it. Any of it. Look, this thing is depressing. Why don't we leave it for now; Cuddy can get it after we've asked some more questions, and make sure you're not just signing anything away—okay? Listen--how would you feel about a drive, or a long walk? You've been cooped up inside too long; it's time to go see the world again, breathe some fresh air. What do you think?" I watched his face light up as he slowly nodded, smiling at me from his position next to me.

"That's a fantastic idea, honey. We can do this later. I have a lawyer friend who I think will help me figure this out. You—", he played a little with my hair again, running a hand across my neck, "have been my fresh air ever since I woke up. Let me call home first, though -- I need to talk to the family before they think I've dropped off the earth—and then I'll never hear the end of it! Then, we can go…ok?"

I was so glad I'd suggested going out; Eric's face and outlook had definitely brightened since I did, and it was time we went out to get some sun on our faces again.

"Perfect!" I told him. "Do you want me to give you some privacy?" I stood, starting to move back to the bedroom, but he shook his head.

"Naw—you survived almost two weeks around my dad, which practically makes you a part of the family! Stay here, near me, please...my family can get a little, 'intense' sometimes – and I may need an escape hatch." We started moving over to the couch, and sat close together, as he reached for the phone on the end table.

"My dad's probably gonna want to talk to you, anyway … so he can make sure I'm taking care of myself—cause of my 'sneaky and underhanded nature', you know." He winked at me while he dialed the number, and I elbowed him in his ribs.

"That's OK—he and I had several pleasant chats while you were sleeping. He's a very nice, smart, courtly man. And, he supplied me with coffee pretty much the whole time--which makes him A-1 in my book!" Eric laughed.

I sat very close to him, listening to the rings on the other end of the line … as he casually put an arm around me. I leaned against him, pulling my legs underneath me to get more comfortable. Smiling at him in encouragement, I quickly kissed his chin.

"Hello? Hey, dad—it's me." I could hear Eric's dad's powerful, deep bass voice on the other end of the call.

"Yeah, I'm fine. They let me out a day or so ago. I know, I know … I should have called." He rolled his eyes, so I gently smacked him on his chest; nodding in agreement with his dad. Eric just rolled his eyes again—for me, this time.

"How are you? How's everyone?" The next few minutes were spent listening, as his dad filled him in on the latest on the family front.

"No, dad, I didn't leave the hospital too early. My doctors, including Alison, all agreed I'd heal better with some time off. So they sent me home, for a week, at least. What? No—she brought me home. She's here now, as a matter of fact. Yes, she is. She's been keeping an eye on me, making sure I was OK. Yeah, they gave her some time off, too. Which is partly your fault, dad; cause I hear you kept her up, by plying her with coffee!" I heard both men laugh at that last part. "Well, they sent her home, too, because she wasn't sleeping or taking care of herself, watching over me—and because she had a _willing accomplice_, she's been ordered home to get some rest, too. So, she's been keeping me company. Look, dad, it's rude to just talk about her when she's right here, next to me. Why don't I put her on?" I shook my head, frantically … only to wilt at the pleading in his eyes. He mouthed, "please, _please?_" a few times, before I finally gave a small nod … holding out my hand for the receiver. He whispered, "thanks!" before returning to his dad. I glared at him, before putting a smile on my face for his father.

"Here she is, dad—no, talk to her as long as you want. We're going to go for a walk, later, to get some fresh air. Then maybe a movie or something, depending on my energy. Yeah, yeah—ok—here she is." Thrusting the receiver in my hand with a sigh of gratitude, he leaned his head back on the head rest of the couch, closing his eyes in thanks. I rolled my eyes, and then cleared my voice.

"Hello, Mr. Foreman. How are you, sir—how was your trip back home?"

"Good morning, young lady. And, first off—you don't have to call me 'sir'. What you did for Eric—well, you just call me 'Mr. Foreman'--or 'Rodney', if you like. As for the trip, I'm getting a little too old for modern travel. Glad to be back home, but even happier that Eric pulled through." I smiled again.

"I think I'll go with 'Mr. Foreman, then, si—um, Mr. Foreman. And I apologize on behalf of Eric-he should have called you as soon as he got home himself." I gave Eric another glare. "It's shameful behavior for a son, and I promise to beat it out of him." Eric's eyes were wide as I gave him a grin, while his dad chuckled in my ear.

"You seemed to be the only person there who could really handle my son, Dr. Cameron."

"Please, Mr. Foreman. I would like it if you just called me Alison. If you don't mind, that is."

"Okay—Alison. You know, we almost named our daughter Alison—that was her grandmother's name on her mother's side, you know. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," I told him, watching Eric as closely as he was watching me. "How's Eric's mom doing?"

"Oh, she's not having a very good day, I'm afraid. It was hard on her, me being away for so long. She doesn't seem to recognize any of us as much as she does me and, well, you know…" His mom was in the middle stages of Alzheimer's – something his dad and I talked a great deal about when Eric was asleep.

I reached over, taking Eric's hand in mine. "I'm so sorry to hear that. They're finding new ways to treat it every day, Mr. Foreman, and I was serious about helping in any way that I could. We can consult with her doctor, if you like. There's a lot of attention on the disease, a lot of research and money being thrown against it. Don't lose hope, sir."

There was a silence on the other end of the line for a moment or two, and then he came back … his voice carrying much more emotion.

"You have been a savior and a comfort to our whole family, Alison. I know that I tried to thank you in Princeton for everything you did for Eric, but…"

"You did, Mr. Foreman. And, it wasn't just me; please remember that. Our boss found the answer to what Eric had at about the same time I did. Eric is a pretty important person in my life, and I would have done it all again to save him." I held Eric's eyes as I said the last part to his father, and before I could say anything more, he leaned in to kiss me. The spell was broken only by his father's voice.

"You know how important he is to me, to his family … and we owe you a debt we can never really repay. So, I want you to think of yourself as a member of my family, Alison. I heard a lot about you before we finally met in person, as I told you before … and I'm glad to say that everything Eric told us was exactly true. He thinks quite a lot of you, and we do as well. We need to get you down here for a visit sometime, if that's OK with you and Eric, and if you can manage it. I know how busy they keep you two there, but if we can plan something—"

"I would love to come for a visit when we can, Mr. Foreman. I would like to meet your wife, as well as the rest of Eric's family. I'd like that very much." I earnestly told him, feeling Eric's nodding agreement next to me.

"Thanks. I think Eric's mom would like you—a lot. And you can hear all the stories about Eric's childhood that make for good blackmail material, if nothing else." I burst out laughing at the teasing tone in his voice, and laughed even harder at the wary expression on Eric' s face. It took me a moment to get some kind of control back before I could answer, Eric's nervous glare making it difficult.

"I appreciate you saying that. And I want you to know that I'm taking care of Eric, and that I'm not going to let anything else happen to him. I promised you that. Please don't worry about him—any more than you already do, that is." The senior Foreman chuckled.

"Yes, I did worry about him for a time. He didn't seem to be making many friends, other than you and the rest of his coworkers … and, to be honest, I was becoming concerned about the effects your boss seemed to have on him. But then, Eric got sick, and we finally met; I watched you, Alison, and I think you're an exceptional young lady. I finally understood his decision about the proxy, when I saw you fight so strongly for him--and then stay by his side while he was in that coma. Words just don't cover what I feel for you about that, young lady."

I swallowed a few times, remembering some of the conversations Mr. Foreman and I'd had while waiting for Eric to wake up. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved his son very much, more than he could say. I saw so much of Eric in him. They were two very good men.

"Like I told Eric, Mr. Foreman … I couldn't be anywhere else. Even though," and I dropped a note of teasing in my voice, "_certain_ people took to 'doctoring' my coffee, in order to get me to go home." There was a sudden release of chuckles over the phone line, and I smiled.

"Well, I have to admit to some complicity in all of that, young lady. You _were_ being quite stubborn about not leaving my son's side, it got to the point where we were as worried for you as we were for him, since he was slowly getting better. So, yes, I admit being a part of the plot; since I _was_ one of your main coffee sources at the time."

"Ah, ha!" I crowed in triumph, making him laugh again.

"You have to know it was all done for your sake. That's what your Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Wilson kept saying, anyway. Me, I didn't especially want to incur your wrath, since my son told me you could be quite, um … "scary" in that department." I turned a glare to Eric, who just shrugged, raising his hands in innocence.

"Oh, he did, did he?" I asked, turning a baleful glance in Eric's direction. He looked like he was ready to bolt from the couch, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing, and spoiling the intimidation I had working on him.

"Trust me, Alison … the compliments he gave you far outweighed any of the other stuff," he chuckled. "Anyway, you weren't getting any sleep yourself, young lady, and that bothered me as much as anything else. So, yes, I was a willing participant in the plot against you. It was, as they say, all for your own good; although, as I remember--it didn't seem to _do_ much good. You were bound and determined to stay by my son's side as much as possible."

There was a quiet pause, before I finally answered him … a single tear running down my face.

"I promised him that I wouldn't leave him alone. He didn't hear me make it, of course; but … I promised him, all the same."

Eric's hand squeezed mine, and I returned it.

"I know," his dad replied. "I remember you telling me, as you were taking me back to the airport. You know, these days … very few people really keep their promises. It's an honor to know someone who truly does. Knowing you're there makes it easier, being away from my son. I know he's in good hands, and I hope that you'll call if you ever need anything. I mean that, young lady—we're all here for you. Especially considering who you work for."

I let loose with more tears, and another laugh.

"Thanks, I really appreciate that. I promise to call if I do need anything. As for House; he's a really brilliant doctor, Mr. Foreman. Eric, Chase, and I really do learn a lot from him. I know he'll never win 'Humanitarian of the Year,' but he's probably the best pure diagnostician in this country—which is saying something, because there are a few others in his field of specialty. Well, I think I've talked your ear off enough for one day, sir—oops, sorry, Mr. Foreman. I'm going to give you back to Eric now. Take care of yourself; I loved talking with you again."

"I did as well, Alison. Please keep us in mind, next time you have some time off. You're always welcome here in our home. Goodbye for now."

"Thanks again for the kind invite. Bye, Mr. Foreman. Here's Eric." I handed the receiver back to Eric, while I quickly got up to go to the kitchen to run some water over my face. It seemed I was destined to cry a lot around the men in Eric's family. Eric was watching me with concern, I knew, so I gave him a nod and a smile to let him know I was OK, as he picked up the conversation with his dad.

"Geeze, dad -- you made her _cry_! Now I've probably got to go buy her something to make up for it, and it's all your fault!" he teased.

After throwing some cool water on my face and drying off with some paper towels, I slowly walked back over to the couch, setting in next to Eric again … inside his warm, strong arm. He mouthed to me, "Are you OK?" I nodded, and smiled … rubbing his thigh.

"Yeah, she's OK. We're going to go out for a walk in a while. Yeah. Tell Mom and everyone I love them, Dad, and I miss them. I wish you could have stayed longer, too. You could have stayed here, instead of in that motel room. _That's_ why I sent you a set of keys to my place, Dad; in case you ever came to see me, and I couldn't get away from work. She did? I didn't know that. Well, dad, you should have taken her up on it, if you didn't want to stay at my place—_with_ Mom's old couch and … oh, did I mention? _A 60 inch flat screen_? OK, ok; I know pride goeth before—yeah, dad, I get it, I _get _it. Yes, I'm feeling good. I'm even cooking for Alison. She has! Yes; Dad, she made this catfish dish—it was like _buttah_!"

I laughed when I heard Eric, of all people, use a catch phrase from Saturday Night Live … about a Jewish talk show host, and 'her' obsession with all things Barbra.

"No, she hasn't given me the recipe yet—but I'll get it, trust me! You know how sneaky I am. Yeah, yeah—learned from the master—whatever. OK, dad—love you. I'll call you in a couple of days. I _will!_ Well, I'm not going to be working, for sure. I don't know—at least a week, maybe longer. Then I have to go before the board to get my medical privileges back. Ha! She'll probably dropkick every last one of them if they don't, Dad—by then, she'll be so sick of me, she'll want me back at work, just to get away from me! _Ouch!!_ Alison—that _hurt!_ OK, dad, I've gotta take her out for a walk sooner than lat—ouch!! That's it! Bye, dad! I love you, too." He hung up the phone, breathed a long sigh of relief … and then turned to me.

"Let's make a rule, right here and now. _No_ pinching, except when it's really called for, like when …" and at that, he gave me a saucy smile; which made me reach over to pinch him again. "OK, ok! Just kidding! Hey—you didn't tell me you offered to let Dad stay at your place while he was here." I shrugged.

"It didn't make a lot of sense for him to spend money on a motel room, when I wasn't even going home much. So, I offered, after we'd figured out what was wrong with you and you were sleeping. Then I asked him if he wanted to stay here, instead, but he refused. He said he didn't want to impose on your space." Eric shook his head.

"That's Dad. And people wonder where _my_ pride comes from. I'd hate to see the hotel bill he ended up with, considering the rates in this town." I nodded.

"I know—which is one reason I offered him my place. But I couldn't get him to change his mind; even after trying several times."

Eric sighed, pulling me a little closer to him as we lazily listened to a travel commercial on the stereo about popular travel destinations this year. He shook his head. "I'd like to get away for a while, even if it's just a long drive to somewhere interesting and different," he mused.

"When do we leave?" I replied in as casual a voice as I could manage.

"When can you be packed?" I grinned.

"I'm packed right now … got a bag in my trunk." He raised his head a little in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Although--it was meant for this week, you know, in case…" my voice drifted off, getting smaller and smaller, the closer I came to the end of my thoughts. He watched me for a moment.

"Alison?"

"Hmm?"

"When we get back home from the park or wherever we end up later … why don't we bring your bag in … and stay here with me?" I pushed myself up from my reclining position against him, studying his face.

"Are you sure?" He nodded, offering me one of those smiles of his.

"Yes. Please. We can work out whatever…arrangements…you want. But I'd really like it if you stayed here with me." I searched his eyes, seeing nothing in them but certainty and … more.

"OK," I whispered, returning his smile with one of my own. Then, I closed the distance between us, finding his mouth with mine through closed eyes … and kissed him forever.

**END OF CHAPTER EIGHT**


	9. Chapter 9

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 9 – Eric"**

A **"House, M.D."** story, by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None

**Author's Note:** Sorry about taking so long to get back to this story, folks. I've been wrestling with how to proceed with the story, and what directions I wanted to take with it. I think I'm at a point where I see the path ahead, and can now write it out. So much so, in fact, that I've managed to write quite a bit. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think! By the way … if you can see the pic at the top of the page (I don't know if FFNet will let it pass, once I've posted the chapter), please know that it's from a TVGuide cover, that I cropped a little bit. I did NOT create it myself; all credit goes to TVGuide. I use it for inspiration!

**Reviewers:**

"**evilmojojojo"** … thank you for saying it's your fav story! I hope you like the newest chapters as much!

"**TheInspired"** … no, not abandoned; just contending with writers' block, and a struggle with how it should proceed. I tend to let stories like this "flow" organically flow out, instead of plotting it through beforehand. This is the first thing I've ever written where I'm shifting perspectives and voices from chapter to chapter; I knew it would be hard, but not THIS hard! Alison's chapters are hardest of all, because I'm on weaker ground trying to put myself in her place, being a guy myself! As far as the "last step"; when it happens, it'll be like real life—unexpected and unplanned. _I'm_ looking forward to them being back at work, too!

"**Anime's mistress"** … Glad you love the story! I think the "Euphoria" episodes have been some of the best TV I've seen in years. Hopefully, the show will find more ways to put these two people together.

"**Nikelodean"** … Thanks! I wanted to present Alison with a solid relationship with Mr. Foreman, because it will be a source of strength for her later … as you'll see in the next few chapters.

"**Magges"** … I totally agree – of all the pairings on the show, THIS one makes the most sense! And Cuddy does belong with House – she's the one he has the most history with, anyway. Wilson could never be more than a "big brother" to her, and Chase just doesn't fit her temperament and outlook on life.

"**Pandora of Ithilien"** … One of the things that drive me crazy about relationships like this is the assumption that the people involved didn't think about the possible issues and consequences beforehand. It does take being open-minded; not everyone will be that way (as you'll see).

**Eric**

They say that having heart-to-heart talks between people in a relationship is always a good thing … it helps prevent misunderstandings, and things from being bottled up; until they come out – usually at the worst of times.

As a guy, though, I wonder if I'll ever be completely convinced of the truth of that. I mean, men are genetically wired to express their more … active emotions, shall we say; still, those feelings that women seem to "specialize" in are kept as far away from the surface of the male psyche as much as possible--and whenever necessary – which, to men, means 24/7, 365 days a year.

Well, I'm in a relationship with someone who has apparently found her way past my genetic and neurological heritage.

Lucky me.

I'm not complaining – really. I've been in enough stilted and ultimately unfulfilling relationships in my life, while being reasonably self-aware enough to be able to take my share of responsibility when they sputtered and failed. A common thing I kept hearing from women went something like this: "Eric, you're just not a very 'open' person; you find it hard to share the real 'you' with anyone. And that makes a relationship with you very hard." Some of those women have even been kind enough, while leaving, to express the hope that I'd someday find that person who could get past all my defenses and inability to open myself up to real sharing … and be ready for a real relationship with her …

… if "she" even existed.

I was beginning to wonder.

After each one inevitably left, I usually consoled myself by telling my "inner male" that maybe it wasn't the right time in my life for a serious relationship. I mean, with trying to build a career as a neurologist, working under a fellowship with one of the most prominent doctors in the country at one of the most prestigious hospitals, there just wasn't enough time or energy left for anything else.

Never mind the fact that there are plenty of doctors around who have both a career and a relationship – or marriage. Not that you could tell, from observing the Diagnostics department of PPTH. With a misanthrope department head, a serial-dating Australian, a woman who, until very recently, nursed an unrequited attraction for that same department head … and me, with my own hang-ups and issues about openness and commitment … there aren't exactly a lot of role models around.

That doesn't even begin to cover the whole House and Stacy thing, House's weird 'cat-chasing-a-string' relationship with Alison; Wilson with his two former marriages, and Cuddy; who seemed, at times, to be the loneliest one of all of us. Strange, when you see what she brings to the table; a strong, intelligent, funny woman who's a superior doctor, the Dean of Medicine at one of the most, if not THE, best teaching hospitals in the country … AND who happens to be a very attractive woman.

Yep – all of us, singly or as a group, were just waiting for our invitations to be on either Oprah or Dr. Phil to come in the mail any day now.

But now, something – unique – has happened. To Alison … and I. After months of working through and within a professional relationship that, at times, carried almost every single hard emotion and feeling you'd care to name … with all of the ups and downs we've been through (and put ourselves through), both she and I find ourselves seeing each other – and, even ourselves – in a completely different light.

I'd almost stopped even thinking about having someone in my life to spend time with, to get to know; to just be with. That part of my heart had slowly been walled off; especially after the recent strife between Alison and I. I just couldn't stomach the idea of putting out the effort, when one of the professional relationships I was presently a part of, with a fellow doctor who happened to be female … was in such a holy mess.

And all of it, my fault.

I guess all of that made it nearly impossible to see who was right in front of me all the time. Someone whom I'd, deep down, always liked and "clicked" with, on a basic level; despite everything that had happened between us.

I wonder now if I've found _her_. _That_ woman.

I think, maybe … sigh.

In some ways, I suppose, things are easier for Alison and I – in a weird, "only at PPTH" way. I mean, we've already been through all of the preliminary stuff; the early, "get to know you" routine … as well as the hard, low, painful times; times that should really have ended any chance for any kind of relationship we could have.

But, she and I are still here. That's not to say there won't be pain in the future – no one's THAT naïve; least of all, me. I've discovered things, though, about her these past few weeks that I hadn't understood or realized before.

How truly strong she is as a person. How much she's willing to forgive. How much love she has to give.

And how well she can kiss.

If you'd told me a month ago that Alison Cameron would be sitting next to me in my apartment, on my couch at 8:30 in the morning … passionately kissing me; I would have indulgently smiled, nodded at you, while gently (and as quickly as possible) guiding you to the psych ward of PPTH, and turning you over to the good graces of the shrinks on the 7th floor.

Well, now I'd have to go in with you … cause at this moment, after I'd just gotten off the phone with my dad, and then asked her to stay with me for the week, at my place … we reached for each other, easily finding each others' lips in a truly breathless kiss.

Her incredibly soft hair, with my hands buried in it, grazed my face as she settled herself inside the circle of my arms. I felt the fabric of her knit long-sleeved shirt brush both sides of my neck as she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tightly against her. I felt her heartbeat next to mine, smiling through our kiss when I heard her moan as I slipped my tongue past her lips, into her cinnamon-and-coffee tasting mouth. She turned her body in my arms, lying sideways across my chest as she laid her head on my shoulder, still maintaining our kiss. This was a very comfortable position for both of us; letting me hold her as close as I wanted, while my hands were still free to roam.

I took full advantage of the opportunity.

Slipping one of my hands from its' resting place on her waist, I gently pushed her shirt up, so that I could touch her flat stomach. When our skin came into contact, I felt her shiver … telling me she enjoyed the contact. I let my fingers rest there for a few moments, on a spot between her ribs and waist. We finally came up for air, her eyes still closed as she continued to rest her head on my shoulder. One of her hands came up to gently caress my face, slowly drawing tracks on my cheek, chin, and neck. Wherever her fingertips touched, my skin tingled. I held very still, hoping she'd keep up with her explorations. She was like a blind person … trying to get a sense of what I looked like from the information her fingers could tell her. It was a very sensual, exciting experience. I'd never been with someone who used her hands as Alison did. I always knew she was a tactile person; seeing how she interacted with patients, watching her surgical techniques on many occasions, noting how deft her fingers and hands were with medical instruments … but to be on the receiving end of her touch was an amazing experience.

I closed my eyes, hoping she wouldn't stop anytime soon. Words that described my feelings right at that moment left my lips in whispers; I surprised myself with the things I said to her … I usually wasn't this "open" with my feelings.

"I love it when you touch me, Alison -- especially like this …" I whispered to her in the quiet of my living room … my eyes still closed. I felt rather than saw her answering smile.

"I'm glad, sweetheart. I was just thinking," she whispered back in a voice just as soft, "how hard it will be for me to … refrain … from touching you, when we're both back at work. I can't seem to get enough of it; or _your_ touches, either. I don't know what I'm going to do." She sounded frustrated; we'd become so incredibly close in such a short amount of time … it was actually painful to think of situations when we couldn't – or shouldn't – act this way around each other, for various reasons.

"Me neither," I answered … sighing from my own frustration. Her fingers were still working their magic, though; relaxing and exciting me all at the same time, as she worked her way from my face and chin, to the back of my ear, my neck, and exposed shoulder above the sweatshirt I wore.

"Your skin … it's so soft …," her voice reached my ear. She sounded a little … surprised. I chuckled, deciding to lighten the mood a little.

"Thanks. It's the collagen and plastic surgery. Denzel and I have the same Hollywood doctor, you know." I teased. She giggled, watching me with slightly-raised eyebrows from her head's place on my shoulder. This was one of my favorite ways of sitting with her. I put a grin on my face, knowing she would come back with one of her own ever-ready zingers.

"Oh, really? And why would you think, even for a moment, that I'd believe suck malarkey?" Her fingers hadn't stopped their movements at all … and I still hadn't opened my eyes.

"Because I fed you a meal fit for a queen – my queen?" I told her in a voice half pleading and teasing. She was quiet for a moment.

"OK-- all that's true. Especially the part about my royal 'queenliness'. All right - you're off the hook – _for now_, that is."

I bowed my head. "Thank you, Your Grace," I replied in as royal-like a voice as I could manage through my own chuckles.

"Think nothing of it, my lord," she answered in an equally majestic, appropriately haughty--tone … her giggles hiding just behind the words. "I will, of course, expect you to address me in that manner whenever we're around our colleagues-- or in public." I raised one – incredulous – eyebrow as I looked at her. She saw the look, and cautiously cleared her throat.

"Okay, you know what—we can talk more about _that_ later. No rush." Her eyes were twinkling with laughter.

"Oh, I think it'll be QUITE a while before _that _particular subject comes up again, 'Your Highness'!" She went into a full pout for just a second … before the giggles took over for both of us.

We laughed some more, before settling into a comfortable silence … neither one of us needing to fill in the quiet spaces unless we wanted to. I leaned my head further against the back of the couch, while she moved her exploring fingers to my earlobe and the back of my neck. She could easily make a good living as a masseuse if she wanted to; she was _that_ good.

"I hope you're not planning on going anywhere, or even moving much; for a while, at least. This is just too nice and comfortable, Eric."

I slowly shook my head; almost – but not quite – opening my eyes, before answering her. "Who—me? Why would I want to go anywhere, or be anywhere else, right now?" I almost snorted out loud at the thought.

"Smart man--I _knew_ there was a reason I kept you around."

"Well, yeah – I guess _someone's_ got to take out the trash, _and_ kill the bugs, _and_ mow the lawn, _and_ clean the gutters …" She was laughing again by the time I finished my sentence.

"I'll believe it when I see it! First of all, I haven't witnessed any 'taking out of the trash' from you so far, pal; I don't remember asking you to kill any bugs for me, you don't **have** a lawn anywhere that I can see … and I presume other people clean the gutters of this place … you're getting way ahead of yourself, don't you think?"

I gave her one of the standard Foreman grins – patent pending – that would be sure to keep me out of trouble.

Or so I hoped.

I shrugged. "…just thought I'd start getting my reasons for needing to hog the TV on the weekends set up for instant use when I need them. It pays to be prepared, you know. Don't you remember, Alison—Eric Foreman, 'boy scout'?"

She was shaking her head by then, chuckling while managing to give me a look of fond frustration … as if she were saying, "What am I going to do with you?" Unfortunately, she'd decided to lift her head from my shoulder, and we were looking in each other's eyes—not a bad tradeoff, since her eyes were so incredibly deep, I could happily spend the rest of my life looking into them. She pinched me on my arm, and I glared at her.

"You must have hit yourself with a pan or something while you were making breakfast. You're talking like a crazy person. As if I'd give up the remote to _that_ TV," and she pointed at the dark flat screen on the wall facing us across the room. "You'd better be _'prepared'_ to watch movies and other things with lots of 'feelings' in them—along with the _occasional_ sporting event—with me--if you know what's good for you!"

I gave her a dramatic sigh, shaking my own head. "Guess I'd better start going out and drinking with the boys, then … since I won't even have command of my own remote!" She let loose with another giggling fit.

"Sweetie, don't try to kid a kidder. I happen to know you don't even drink that much. And there will be _so many_ reasons for you to stay home, that 'going out with the boys' won't even occur to you." Her voice had dropped an octave.

"Oh, really," I asked her, curious about how she'd explain that remark. "How's that?"

"Because, Eric…" and at that moment, her eyes suddenly turned smoky … and her voice dropped a few more notes in tone, as she shifted in my lap … pulling herself closer to me, "you'll be … um, too _busy_…"

She went right back to nuzzling and kissing my neck, her lips even making passes at my earlobe … which drove me crazy. My head emptied of all thoughts while she paid close attention to a spot directly beneath my ear, on the side of my neck … and--oh god, it felt so good. _She_ felt so good.

"Oh…" was all I could manage to groan out, before her warm breath and slightly wet lips reattached themselves to my skin. My hands slowly dropped to her waist, holding her steady as she adjusted her position in my lap, completely facing me … her hips and legs straddling me while her arms snaked around my neck.

"Umhmm…" was Alison's reply … and the room stilled for a while, except for the sounds of kisses, rustling clothes, and soft sighs.

We were 'necking' like teens, breathing heavily in each others' ears as we spent all of our efforts exploring the other person's neck, shoulders … and other places where there was exposed skin … with our lips and hands. When we found ourselves passing each other with our mouths, we'd spend some time just … kissing; deeply, slowly … like explorers in a new land.

I soon became aware of her hands slipping under my sweatshirt, her flat palms sliding up and down my chest … her thumbs tracing the outline of my sternum, one hand pausing over my racing heart. I felt her warm fingers just centimeters from it, and I suddenly had the strangest feeling that she'd somehow slipped through the walls of my chest to take my heart in her hand, holding it as if it were the most precious gift---

I snapped back into the present, my eyes flying open as my lips broke away from hers … startled at the sheer power of that sensation. I could have sworn that she 'd _touched_ my heart, somehow; and I momentarily struggled for breath as her eyes locked onto mine … surprise and puzzlement filling them.

"Eric?" she whispered, pulling her hands from beneath my sweatshirt to cup my face in them as she watched me. "Are you all right?"

I willed my heart to slow down, looking away from her for a moment as I tried to think of a way to explain the strange event I'd just experienced. "I'm—it's alright, hon. I just—for a weird moment, there, when your hand was on top of my heart, I…" She waited for me to finish, her eyes never leaving my face.

"Tell me," she said. She still sat in my lap, facing me, and to calm my nervous hands, I laid them on her hips, taking deep breaths.

"It's silly. I had the feeling that you were actually holding my heart in your hand for a few seconds. It seemed so real, I was a little shaken by it, that's all. I'm sorry, Alison—I ruined our moment." By then, I'd raised my eyes back up to hers, and I was surprised by the emotions I saw there. Her gaze was still filled with passion, tiny flickering lights darting throughout the clouds in her eyes. Her own breathing was a little labored, too … making me feel even worse for spoiling the passionate moment that had been there between us. As so often happened more and more recently, though; she seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

"Eric … baby … I wish I were that lucky … to be the one with your heart. It would only be fair, since you've filled mine so deeply…" she told me, before leaning in to give me another kiss. "I wanted to see what it was like to feel your heart beat underneath my fingers … I guess this 'connection' we have went a little further, and you picked up on my thoughts. Nothing was 'ruined', Eric—to tell you the truth, I felt a little 'jolt', too; but I told myself that it was just some kind of … physiological … reaction. We seem to be having a lot of those, if you think back…" She had a teasing, wicked grin on her face, bringing a smile to mine. I nodded happily, which got me a few chuckles.

"Wow…" was all I could say in answer. I was still a little shaken at the depth of the 'link', or whatever it was, that had appeared. What she was describing sounded a little 'mystical' to me; but I couldn't deny what I'd felt.

It was like nothing else I'd ever experienced.

She was still watching me closely, and I could see the "Doctor A" persona drop onto her face; as though she had just put on her lab coat. "Are you sure you're OK—you still look a little out of it," she asked … not-so-subtly checking my pulse at my neck.

"That won't tell you much, girl—I am, after all, holding a beautiful woman in my clutches, and that's bound to make my pulse race a bit!" She rolled her eyes, a slow blush covering her face.

"Yeah, you're fine, all right—if the amount of malarkey coming from your mouth is any indication…"

The next minute, she shrieked, laughing and trying to twist away from me … because I was mercilessly tickling her.

"Eric—stop! That's enough … I mean it! _Ericccc!!_" She kept laughing and twisting in my arms, not even trying to get back at me. That's when I decided to change my plan a little. She was leaning away from me at that moment, and I suddenly leaned forward … planting a kiss right at the spot where her shirt was buttoned at her neck. She suddenly froze—then, a soft, deep groan found its' way from her throat … as one of her hands made its' way to the back of my neck, holding my head where it was.

The sudden heat from her skin was intoxicating, filling my nose as I nuzzled her upper chest above the partially-buttoned shirt. Closing my eyes, I could feel her body start to sway back and forth as my lips moved over that spot. I used both forearms to support her; suddenly afraid I'd drop her backwards onto my coffee table. I couldn't see anything, but her small voice reached my ears.

"Oh, god … mmmm …"

I think I just discovered another particularly sensitive spot on her body.

I was flicking the tip of my tongue against her skin, her body moving even more … when she drew a breath, putting both hands on each side of my head, giving me a small push. I opened my eyes to see her watching me, then … our eyes still locked on each others' she slowly, very slowly, climbed out of my lap … standing up and backing away a few inches from me. Her voice and body trembling, she whispered, "Wait--stop …"

I slowly stood, facing her … just a couple of inches away, and watched as she backed up even more to maintain some distance away from me. I took a step towards her, and she took one back, raising her hands higher … never breaking eye contact.

My only thought at that moment was to pick her up in my arms, carry her to my bed … and make love to her.

The next thought I managed through the red passion flashing through me, was that she knew exactly what I wanted to do.

Her skin was flushed; her lips full and wet … her cheeks darker than the rest of her face with excitement.

We stood there, watching each other … her hands still in the air between us … when she spoke again … very, very, softly.

"Take me for a walk, Eric?"

God, no, I was thinking to myself. She smiled, a tiny one -- of apology, regret … apparently still reading my thoughts. Instead of keeping her distance, as I thought she would … she surprised me by taking a step closer, taking my hands in hers.

"Let's get out of here, start our day … what do you think?"

I saw her watch me slowly, reluctantly, rein in my body's desires and reactions; accepting that right now, this moment, still wasn't the right time for us.

I didn't know how much more of this I could take. It was getting harder and harder to be so close to her, or in physical contact, without going further …

I'd made a promise to myself, and to her, though … that I wouldn't let things get rushed between us. _We'd_ made that same decision. A part of me hoped it was as hard for her, though, as it was for me.

What can I say? I didn't want to be the only one of us "suffering". I smiled; closing my eyes for a second to pull myself from the magnetic depths of her eyes, and gave her a nod.

"I need to change before we go, honey — do you want the bathroom first?" She shook her head.

"No, thanks, sweetie. I—I need to get some water, something to cool off with. I'll wait for you."

I nodded. "Ok. Can I--?" I pointed past her, to the rear of the apartment. She was standing between me and the bedroom, it suddenly occurred to her. "Oh, yeah--sure. Sorry." She laughed, moving away from the couch to give me room to pass. I'd moved a couple of steps past her, when she grabbed my arm. "Hey---", she started to speak, turning me back towards her. I paused, and faced her. She stepped right up to me, and kissed my cheek … keeping her mouth close to my ear.

"It won't be forever, baby … and I promise it'll be worth the wait. OK?" She searched my face for some reassurance that I wasn't upset, or getting too impatient with our … little "dance". I leaned towards her ear, whispering, "Yes, I know … and you bet it'll be worth waiting …" My warm breath brushed against the flesh of her ear, and I sensed her body react with a shiver, before turning away, heading to the bedroom to change clothes for the outdoors.

I heard her release a deep sigh behind me … before she headed to my kitchen.

Entering my room and then heading to my closet, I pulled out some jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a windbreaker. Deciding to grab a quick shave before we left, since I'd let my face go a little since leaving the hospital, I called out to Alison, "Do you know where you want to go?"

There was a pause before I heard her voice. "I'm not sure—you decide, OK? I'm just the driver, sweetie. Are we going to go by the hospital first?"

"No," I told her through the partially-closed door of my bedroom. I'd taken off my sweatshirt and tossed it on the bed. "I'll give my legal friend a call later; ask him to look over that form. Cuddy can wait a little longer, I think. Did you want to go by there for any reason?"

"Nope." From the sound of her voice, I could tell she'd drifted down the short hallway to my room, standing just outside the door frame. "Nothing there I need to do or get, and I'm too afraid of being shanghaied into working in the clinic, anyway." I chuckled.

"You're probably right about that. Listen—I know just the place for a nice walk. There's a forest preserve not too far away from here, with lots of scenery. Maybe afterward we can get something to eat, and then go see a movie. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful—perfect, in fact. We should buy a paper, though—check to see what's showing." I shook my head, although she couldn't see it. I managed to get some shaving cream on the mirror above the sink, and wiped it away with a hand.

"Alison, this is the 21st century. We have these new things called 'computers'—ever hear of them? I'm going to grab a quick shave—why don't you jump on my PC in the other room, and check out the movie times? I'll just be a few minutes."

"OK, good idea. Mind if I check my email, too?" I could hear her padding slowly towards the 2nd bedroom, where I had my PC set up.

"As long as you're not answering any other guy's messages, fine with me." I was ready for my shave.

"Oh, don't be jealous, babe—you _know_ you're the only 'neurologist' for me!"

"… yeah, I'd _better_ be! Out in a couple of – hey, wait a minute!--the only _'neurologist'_?!?" I could hear her laughter through the walls of the apartment.

"Take your time, dear … I'll just start with the local guys' messages first…" Her voice trailed off, teasing me.

"Alison!!!"

"Kidding! I'm kidding!"

"I'm adding that one to the list!"

"And I'm getting _so_ scared! Hey—how can you talk and shave at the same time?" I could hear her fingers typing on the keyboard; a lot faster than I'd be. Having watched her take the bulk of the notes and do most of the typing during our joint writing project, I knew she was much faster—and more accurate—than I was. I'd seen her go through tons of House's emails in almost no time at all in the office.

Deciding to leave her to it, I continued with my shave. I was surprised by the amount of stubble I'd grown; growling a little in my throat as I ran the razor against my skin, I could still feel my heart slowing from what had just happened on the couch. I couldn't believe that our physical attraction had grown so much in the past couple of weeks. I was in awe at Alison's self-control. I knew she was a "physical" person; her encounter with Chase while under the influence was a sign of that. I'd also seen her dance and move, as well; she was someone who was very comfortable in her body, and who knew it well.

I knew we'd have to find other ways to spend our time; like, really getting to know each other. There was so much about her that I didn't know; today would be a good day to start changing that.

Rinsing off the excess shaving cream, I reached for the aftershave I used … applying just enough to know it was there (I loathed guys who doused themselves in their aftershave), and then used a towel to pat my shoulders dry of excess water.

Checking my face in the mirror one last time, I turned off the light and turned to the open door of the bathroom to see Alison standing there, watching me with a smile and my shirt in her arms. She moved out of the doorway, letting me pass into the bedroom, and then handed the shirt to me. Putting it on, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I checked myself in the mirror. She adjusted the collar of the shirt here and there, standing behind me as she did; then, her eyes met mine in the mirror as her arms slipped around my waist.

"You're so handsome, Eric." She let out a laugh at the expression on my face; I never thought of myself as being handsome; not in the way her eyes were viewing me. I just gave her a small roll of the eyes as I finished pulling the shirt on.

"You don't think so?" she asked, still standing behind me as I turned to face her. I shrugged, and then reached up to play with some of the longer strands of her hair that sat on her shoulder. Her eyes gleamed at the contact.

"I've never really thought much about it. I've never fixated much on my looks. I mean, I try to keep in good shape, and not abuse my body," she nodded in agreement, "but anything over and above that, I guess I just leave to God and others." She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, _I_ think you're handsome. Good enough to be seen in public with, anyway." I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at her. She gave me a saucy grin.

I pointed towards the front door. "Out! Move it, before I end up spanking you or something!" I told her—then held up a hand to stop her expected reply to the threat of a spank. "You've got a sick mind, Alison Cameron! Out! Out!" Giggling, we both left the room and started pulling on our jackets. The day was, I could tell, a little on the cool side. Should make for a nice walk.

"Did you find a good movie? Any interesting messages? You weren't on long…" I asked, helping her put her jacket on.

"I think so—the downtown theater has a couple of interesting ones we might like. I'll read you the descriptions—I printed them out. And there was a message from Chase; he asked how you were doing, and wants to know if tonight's good for pizza and beer." We had passed through the front door of my place as she talked, waiting for me while I locked the door behind us. As if it was something we'd always done, we joined hands … walking towards where she parked her car.

"You may end up deciding on the movie for us; I've never given them much thought, other than what looked interesting and matched my mood at the time," I warned her. "What did you tell Chase?" She shrugged as we approached her car, parked further away from my place than the day before, when she'd brought me home.

"Told him we'd call him later, since I didn't know how our day'd go yet." I nodded.

"Good call; thanks, love. We might not have any energy left by then, and dealing with Chase on low energy is never a good idea." My quip brought a knowing smile to her face.

Pulling out of the parking lot, she turned to me as I was adjusting the passenger seat of her car. "Where are we going, and which way is it?" I grinned at the thought of our destination.

"Other side of Princeton Township; a place called Woodfield Reservation. We're going to Old Great Road, and then follow it until we get to the Tenacre Foundation building. The entrance to the reservation is across the road."

She nodded, turning in the right direction. "Next question; tell me about this place, and how you know about it. I've never even heard of it before, although I do know where the Tenacre Foundation building is." I settled back in the seat, turning to face her as much as I could. Alison's car always felt cramped to me, although it was nice and drove well.

"It's a nature preserve, basically; about a hundred acres of mostly forest. It's got four rivers flowing through parts of it, lots of animals, and good walking paths. I found it not long after moving here for the fellowship; I like to explore the city or town I happen to be in; get the lay of the land, I guess. Nice, peaceful place to fill your lungs with clean air, walk, and think—or not, if you don't want or need to. We're not going to see every part of it today; it's just too big. If you like it, we'll come back and explore some more."

"I'm sure I will--like it, I mean. And I wouldn't think of coming back, unless you were with me." I smiled.

"Alison, it's not my personal park. Go anytime you want to. I know what you mean, though … now I can't imagine going without you, either." She returned my smile with one of her own., while keeping her eyes on the road.

"Hey—should we stop for some food, make this kind of a picnic?" I thought for a moment.

"Well, I'm not really hungry, after that 'gourmet' breakfast", Watching her face as I spoke, I caught the tiny roll of the eyes I expected, "but if you're hungry, sure—or, we could just plan on it for next time."

"Okay … next time, then." She was beaming at the idea.

"Hey! I _saw_ that eye roll, Alison…"

"No way!—I mean, that wasn't an eye roll; that was, um, just some dust in my eyes …" I hid the grin I felt appearing on my face, trying not to laugh at her attempt at explaining away what we both knew she'd done.

"Uh-huh … whatever you say, then, Alison."

We pulled up to a red light, and she turned to me … a look on her face, half-frown and half-grin.

"Wanna get out and walk the rest of the way, pal? I can meet you there in, oh, say … three hours or so?" She reached over to poke me in the shoulder, emphasizing her threat.

I just raised both hands, slowly shaking my head … not saying a word.

"…didn't think so…" she mumbled, as she accelerated through the now green light.

The rest of the trip was spent in mostly silence, watching the traffic—and glancing at each other—when it was safe to.

We finally arrived at the front entrance indicated by a fairly small sign; I had Alison follow the gravel drive back to a small parking area. There were only two other cars there, and you could see the beginnings of a path wending its' way into the forested area. We got out of the car, breathing in the heavily wood-scented air while slowly looking around. She had what I took to be a pleased look on her face, her hair gently flowing in the mild winds passing through the trees. The sun was out, starting to burn through the white clouds in the sky, and everything looked – fresh.

"A lot different from the---" I started to tell her, only to halt at her raised hand.

"No—no mention of 'that' place, ok? Let's not spoil this … it's so beautiful here …" she whispered. I slowly nodded; glad she was having the same reaction I did, when I first discovered this place. I came around to her side of the car, holding out my hand.

"Come on—let's walk. I want to show you around." We started on the well-worn path, just wide enough for two people. There were bike tire tracks, and lots of footprints—both on and off the trail. This was a popular place for outdoors types, and I could tell she was falling in love with it already. Another point for me, I grinned to myself.

"What's with the satisfied look on that face of yours? Yeah, this is a great place, but don't go patting yourself on the shoulder _too_ hard—the day's still young," she told me, leaning in a little to give me a small push as we walked.

"You're **awfully** hard to please--you know that?" I grumbled in a good-natured tease. She shook her head with a smile, sending her hair off in all directions. She was looking all around, like the proverbial kid in the candy store … studying the trees, listening to the babbling water of a brook or river that we hadn't seen yet … an open, peaceful look settling all around her like a new outfit.

"Hush—I'm 'communing with nature' over here!"

"I thought you went before we left the apartment this morning?"

"Hardee har har---_very_ funny!!"

"Thanks-- I try."

"…not hard enough, apparently…"

"Hey!!"

"All right, all right … settle do—" We'd walked through the first grove of trees fronting the preserve, now coming across a meadow absolutely filled with waist-high flowers of many different types. The meadow was surrounded by trees, forming a great circle about a hundred yards in diameter.

Alison stopped walking, staring ahead in shock. "Wow," she whispered, almost too softly for me to hear.

This was one of the things I was waiting for. Knowing that this was on the path we were taking through the forest, I wanted to see her reaction to it when we'd reached the meadow. I wasn't disappointed.

She was so enthralled by the sights in front of us, she dropped my hand … turning around, taking every part of the sights in, before slowly moving forward. I stayed where I was; just watching her. I think she even forgot I was there, so wrapped up in the spells the beauty of the place that anything else just didn't register. That was OK with me; just seeing the place, with her … was enough, for the moment. I slid my hands into my pockets, trying not to make any sounds that would break the spell, or otherwise spoil the moment for either of us. I heard her soft footsteps brush against the stalks of the plants as she slowly drifted through them … her hands reaching out from her sides to brush against and touch the blooms of the plants all around her.

There were large dragonflies buzzing around us, their sounds mixed in with lots of other scuttling noises; chipmunks, squirrels, small birds, and the other animals that made this part of the preserve their home. Alison seemed at home here; wandering throughout the meadow, examining the large, leafy plants she passed, as well as the multicolored blossoms of the others that seemed to surround her like some royal court; types of plants I couldn't even begin to identify.

She had a peaceful, relaxed look on her face, a look that told me she'd found a sense of peace here. I watched her slowly close her eyes, turning in a small circle … her arms at an angle away from her body. It looked for a few moments as if she was going to fly off into the sun, like one of the dragonflies that flew in circles around her.

Slowly, so that I didn't disturb the moment, I slid my cell phone from my belt, easing it on and taking pictures of her as she moved around the meadow. I felt like I was capturing a sprite, or some other mythical creature, in the memory of my phone … and even though I knew I'd never forget the memory of being here, seeing it for myself … I didn't want to leave without some way of recording it. Luckily, the flash of the camera wasn't needed in the ambient sunlight around us, even through the shade offered by the trees surrounding us. I took several pictures, and then reattached the phone to its' holder on my belt, never having taken my eyes off of Alison.

She was halfway across the meadow, rambling along her own path through the flowers, when she finally turned to me.

The smile on her face was priceless. I wish I hadn't put the phone camera away so quickly.

She held out her hand to me, and I moved forward to join her.

Taking my hand again as I drew alongside her, she looked up into my face.

"Thank you, Eric."

"You're welcome," I told her, "but … for what, exactly?"

"For bringing me here – and showing me this place. I know it's important to you, and I love that you wanted to show it to me."

All of this, she whispered … her eyes never leaving my face. I could see her relax … _really_ relax-- which was another of the goals I had for this day. For too long, she'd been taxed, stressed out; even though she's extraordinarily good at hiding it, I could start to see the signs … the cracks in her reserve. It's been there on her face, in her eyes, I suddenly realized … since our falling-out over the stupid article. All of that pain and anger between us, and then me becoming deathly ill – and Alison forced to take center stage through her agreeing to be my proxy –- and now, when everything has flipped almost 180 degrees for both of us, with everything that THAT entails … she's just been on the edge.

I wonder if she's gotten a good, solid eight hours of sleep at all in the past month or so. If she hasn't, then I'm at least partly to blame. I need to make sure that our time off from work is as restful for her, as it is for me.

That's my new mission, I decided right then and there. Everything else that happens … well, it'll just have to take its' turn.

Alison's well-being is what's most important.

"You've got that 'up-to-no-good' look in your eyes again, sweetie--I'm starting to get scared." I just gave her my most innocent-looking (or so I hoped) look; which led her to narrow her eyes.

"Very, very funny. Why must you doubt me so?" I moaned, in conjured regret and disappointment. She wasn't having any of it, though. The only reaction I got was a serious eye-roll.

"Fine—don't tell me. Whatever it is, I hope you know that it won't work, and that it'll backfire on _you_."

Just at that moment, a butterfly chose that moment to land on her shoulder … an inch or two from her hair. I slowly reached over to it – a Monarch butterfly – and guided it onto my finger and off of her shoulder.

"Eric—what is that crawling on me--something gross?" She'd felt the butterfly land, and was standing completely still as I tried to retrieve it.

"No, not at all. Relax, Alison – here, this is what it is--hold up your hand."

"No way!" she whispered in a panic. My turn to roll _my_ eyes at her for a change.

"Come on … don't be a baby! It's all right, I promise--please?" I'd finally gotten the butterfly more interested in my finger than her shirt, and had slowly lifted it off of her. Surprisingly, it stayed in place, instead of flying off, as I thought it would.

"What is it?" she asked, in a softer whisper. I slowly brought my hand, which held the butterfly, around to her line of sight.

Her breath caught as she saw the brightly-multicolored creature I was holding.

"Oh, it's beautiful! And it apparently likes _you_, of all people!" She was still in a teasing mood, and I gave her a quick glare … as she slowly raised her hand to take the butterfly from me. Neither of us made any sudden moves, or spoke any louder than whispers … afraid of scaring it off. She cupped her hands, and the butterfly actually hopped into the space between her palms. I was amazed, and Alison drew a quick breath in surprise.

"Aww--hey, there …" she spoke to it, a pleased grin on her face. The Monarch, apparently deciding it was among friends, preened by opening its' wings as wide as they could go, showing off the hundreds of colors and shades nature had placed on it. We stood there, looking down into Alison's hands as the butterfly hopped around a few times, before finally leaping away and into the air, where it headed towards the nearest grove of trees.

"I've never seen a butterfly stay so long around a human like that before," I told Alison, who watched it go with a smile. "You must have the touch." She gave a little embarrassed shrug of her shoulders.

"I love animals – well, most of them, anyhow," she replied. "We had both dogs and cats in the house growing up. I'm more of a 'cat' person, though, to tell the truth. You—" and she turned back to me, her hair blowing in the wind as she studied my face, "are probably a 'dog' person, right?" I nodded.

"Yes, I like dogs, but I have no particular objection to cats, either. I think cats are pretty funny, actually. They remind me more of people than other animals do."

"What do you mean?" She was focused on my face.

"Well, they're independent, live life in their own unique way, and seem to take ownership of any space they happen to be in at that moment. Sound familiar?" She nodded, grinning.

"Now that you mention it, cats do remind me of you…"

"Hey-that's not what I meant, and you know it!"

"Sure, sure … whatever you say. So—are we just gonna stay here in the meadow, or are there other sights in this burg?" She took off walking, heading to the trees on the opposite side of the meadow from where we came in. She seemed to have a good sense of direction, I noticed, as she took my hand … pulling me along with her.

"What's the rush, Doctor 'A'—got a hot date tonight, or something?" I saw a big grin appear on her face at the use of my nickname for her.

"Why, yes … I do. With this handsome, dark, mysterious guy I've been spending all my time with lately. We're going to go out and see a movie, so there might be some serious making out in the theater tonight!"

"Wow-- sounds like a lucky guy. You think he has any idea what he's getting into, dating a firebrand like you?" I teased.

"Firebrand? Me? I'm just a simple country girl; no pretensions, no 'airs' …who wouldn't want to go out with someone like me?"

I slowly shook my head. "He doesn't have a clue, does he—the poor guy!"

She giggled, pulling me closer to her and wrapping an arm around my waist as we walked. "What did I tell you about disturbing my 'communing with nature'?"

"Um--not to do it?" She snorted—almost a laugh, but stillborn as she tried to keep from encouraging me any further.

We headed through a heavily forested section of the reserve, the walking paths almost disappearing between the trunks of the large trees that seemed to spring up around us everywhere we looked. The sunlight failed a little, trying to penetrate the thick growth of branches and leaves over our heads. Neither of us spoke, just wandering along at our own speed, enjoying the sensation of not having to be anywhere at any particular time … allowing us to just focus on ourselves, and the sights and sounds around us. Her hand felt soft and warm, her fingers constantly moving around mine. We glanced at each other occasionally as we went, each finding on the others' face a pleasant, relaxed smile and look … and I suppose she was just as happy to see that on mine … as I was to see it on hers.

Another few minutes of wandering through this forest inside the city brought us to a low ridge where the trees thinned out, turning into smaller bushes, rocky outcroppings, and ankle-high grasses … leading to one of the four rivers that flowed through this place. It wasn't much of a 'river', as rivers go; barely ten feet across, and probably no more than three feet deep in the middle … it was still the centerpiece of an amazing place. The curves of the river were surrounded by rocks of all sizes, some of them great places to sit and rest while letting the sun warm you.

We headed for one rock that could hold two people comfortably, and Alison climbed onto it … smiling as I helped her up by placing a supporting hand on the small of her back while holding onto one of her hands. She made room for me next to her, and we both turned to face the glowing, slow-flowing water … letting our feet hang over the side of the rock facing the opposite shoreline.

I placed both hands behind me, leaning back to support myself and to catch the morning rays of the sun on my face. It wasn't yet bright enough for sunglasses, but the light carried plenty of warmth—which was added to when Alison moved closer, leaning her body against me. I locked my elbows in tighter to support us both, as she relaxed …letting out a contented sigh. She tilted her head back as well, closing her eyes, drinking in every bit of rays and light around us. Her face and hair glowed with the sunlight and reflected glare from the water beneath us, looking so beautiful … I just sat and watched her.

"It's so beautiful here," she finally spoke in a still voice, moving only the parts of her mouth needed to make the sounds. I nodded, even though she couldn't see me through her still-closed eyes.

"Yes … you are …" I answered in a voice as quiet as hers … watching her as she slowly opened her eyes, turning around to gaze at me. Up until that second, I wasn't sure if she'd heard me, or not. I wasn't even positive sure I'd said that out loud.

I did; and she did.

"You … you really think I'm beautiful, Eric?" she asked in a completely guileless, open voice that surprised me with its' innocent tone.

"Yeah, I do. But, you've heard that from other guys before, many times, I'm sure …" To my amazement, she shook her head.

"No, I haven't. At least—not from men who I think said it for any reason, other than to get into my pants. Most guys get intimidated by the 'Doctor' thing, or—"

"—the fact that you're smarter than they are, which then makes you somehow not as beautiful as they first thought…" I finished for her, stopping only when I saw the look of shock on her face. I shrugged.

"I'm a guy, Alison … I know how most guys think and react when a woman like you comes along."

"Oh…" was her only reply. She turned away from me, gazing out across the water with a clouded, thoughtful look on her face. So much for my plan to keep things light and relaxing for her, I thought.

"I'm sorry, Alison—I didn't mean to depress you." She sent a small, wry grin my way … shaking her head.

"It's not your fault, sweetie … I just started remembering so many short – and single – dates that ended with that 'theme'. Right now, though, that's the farthest thing from my mind. When I'm with you, I don't think at all about things like that. It's … wonderful. Your compliments certainly don't hurt, either." She leaned over, kissing my cheek as we laughed.

"I mean each and every one of them, girl."

"I know you do, Eric. I just need some time to adjust to hearing--and believing, them … okay?"

"Okay," I answered. "We have all the time in the world, so take as much as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

Alison turned back to me, our eyes locked again – and then she came over, settling into my arms … her legs stretched out across the rock. I slipped an arm around her waist, underneath her jacket … while one of her arms rested on my shoulders, her head settling on my shoulder.

"We certainly have the 'physical' side of this relationship down pretty well, huh?" She gasped, quickly looking up at me; while my brain finally caught up to what it was I'd just said, and how it must have sounded.

"I mean—sorry, I meant the whole, 'touching, hugging, contact' thing; not the 'rest' of it … I'm going to shut up now …" Her face turned from one of shock to laughter; no doubt from the look on my face.

"Eric Foreman—you're _blushing!_"

"Am not!"

"Are, too!" She was laughing.

"Am _not_, Alison!"

We must have sounded so infantile, trading schoolyard barbs back and forth like that. I don't think either of us particularly cared at that moment, though.

"Oh, you're _so_ blushing … and it's soooo cute!" She giggled, stretching a finger up to tickle the skin right under my chin, like a mother might tickle her small child.

"Oh … go fall in the river, whydont'cha?!?" Okay—my comebacks weren't the best today, I admit. Most of the time, Alison just … flusters me. Can't explain it. It's like … well, I don't know what it's like. Never experienced anything like this before, with anyone.

It's all new territory to me.

Her smirk and laughter finally dimmed down to tolerable levels, and I could finally turn away from her to again watch the scenery around us. Even though the sun was higher in the sky, we still needed our jackets because of the just-noticeable chill still in the air. I pulled Alison a little closer to me; partly to give her more body heat, but also to feel hers as well.

For a tiny woman, she sure did feel warm whenever she was close by.

"Eric?" Her whisper drew me away from my thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me more about your family. You've never said much about them, and I don't know much about where you come from; except from your dad."

"Was the old man jabbering while I was sleeping?" I jokingly asked.

"Oh, no … he was, most of the time, pretty quiet about most things. You know better than I about that, I'm sure." I gave her a knowing smile. "Anyway, if you feel like talking, please tell me about them. I'm curious about you, 'mystery man'!"

"No real mysteries to me, girl … I guess, given the way I see House dealing with the idea of personal privacy, I decided that I wouldn't volunteer any information that could be used against me." It was her turn to knowingly nod. I knew as little about her family as she did mine; less, since she's already met my father.

I stayed quiet for a few moments, gathering my thoughts.

"I don't know how much Dad told you, Alison, so I'll just start at the beginning. Dad's retired from the Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Worked there as a security guard, for years and years. Moved up over time, and was running the force by the time he left. Almost thirty years there. Needless to say, we got free tickets whenever we wanted to see him at work." Alison smiled.

"Dad's pretty religious, as you no doubt saw; he made sure we all went to church every Sunday, whether we wanted to, or not. No real choice there. I missed a lot of Browns games because of that; let me tell you. Anyway, his faith has always been very important to him, and he raised his sons that same way."

Since Eric had never struck her as being religious, and because of certain things his father said while he was at the hospital … Alison quietly guessed that it was a source of contention between father and son.

"He was always very tough on us, me and my brother. Loves my mom to death; worships her like a queen. He's a lot smarter than people give him credit for; he reads almost everything he can get his hands on--even my medical books, when he ran out of other things to read." Alison laughed at the teasing tone in my voice. Smiling up at me in encouragement. She also sensed my hesitation; I don't talk about my family often; even to close friends. Too many complicated memories, I guess. Telling her, though, felt … right.

"My mom, Margaret—although everyone calls her 'Margie'—was a CPA at one of those Big Ten accounting firms. I guess you could say I'm closer to her than I am to Dad. She and I just always 'clicked'. We used to have the best conversations when I was a kid—she taught me a lot, about people, and about life. Don't get me wrong; Dad and I are pretty close, too … but you know how it is, Alison; sometimes, it's just easier with one parent over the other. For me, it's Mom." Alison reached over to take my free hand in hers; she was the only person, outside of maybe Cuddy, who knew about my mother's Alzheimer's disease. I suspect that House knew, as well; he no doubt had read the parts of our personnel files that were off-limits, even to supervisors. To House, if he was curious about something, that was all the justification he needed to find out all he could about it.

I cleared my throat. This next part was especially hard for me. "When she started presenting symptoms, about six years ago, things got to a point where she couldn't really work anymore. Oh, she could still do most normal things, but heavy-duty accounting just got to be too much. I guess we were lucky; the firm could have used that as a reason to just let her go, but they decided to put her on long-term medical leave; and then, finally, disability early retirement. We took her to specialists, different clinics—no one had any answers. So, she came home … where Dad could take care of her."

"I'm so sorry, Eric," Alison said. I sighed, and brought her hand to my lips for a kiss.

"Thanks, honey. It's good, I guess, to talk about this; especially with you."

"I, um … started reading the latest journals on Alzheimer's while you were asleep. I wanted to learn all I could, so that I could maybe help if you needed me to …"

My breath caught in my throat when I heard that. Her kindness and thoughtfulness really touched me. The fact that Dad talked to her at all about Mom, as I knew he had … was one of the biggest signs from him that he liked Alison—and trusted her.

Thinking about that made me happy, even though the circumstances weren't exactly the best.

"I… that's very, very nice of you, love … I don't know what else to say, except 'thank you'". She squeezed my hand.

"That's enough for me. I _know_ it's hard for you to talk about this, and letting me get this close … I promise, Eric, I'll never give you or your Dad a reason to regret it. I can't imagine how it must be for your family, having to deal with this. Anything you need, sweetie … just ask, and you've got it."

I struggled, silently, to keep control over my emotions … Alison waiting patiently for me to continue. It hurt, seeing what the disease was doing to Mom, and there hasn't really been any comfort of any kind for me … no one to share my burden with … except for Dad.

Until now.

The single tear that left my eye was the only outward sign of my distress … but I knew that she could feel what I was feeling … as close as we'd become over the past few days, since I'd come out of the coma.

Blinking furiously, I buried my face in her soft hair … seeking more comfort in her embrace and presence. I felt her arm reach up to pull me down, closer to her warmth. We stayed that way … quiet … for a while. I loved her for her silence and patience … her sensitivity; that quality that I'd mocked, taking it for a weakness.

Now, I hung onto it like a life raft in a storm.

"I think my Dad probably told you this already, Alison, but … my Mom would like you—a lot. She never had a daughter, even though I have lots and lots of nieces that she doted on … but you two, I think, would be 'thick as thieves', as Dad would say."

"If all we talked about was _you_, then … I'm sure you're right, sweetie." I chuckled; the grey fog in my heart starting to lift in this woman's presence.

"Well, if you're interested at all in things like gardening, animals, or kids who need adopting … then you'd have those things to 'gab' about, too."

"Hmm," she replied, "I don't have anything approaching a 'green thumb', but animals and kids are definite interests."

"You mean to tell me _I'm_ going to be the one stuck with the greenery and the lawns around the house!" I protested in a fake-put on voice. She barked out a laugh, instantly leaping into the fantasy game we kept handy.

"Sorry, dear—just think of it as being part of a _very_ comprehensive 'honey-do' list!" We both started laughing.

"There better be some kind of compensation for all this, then … that's all I've got to say on that subject."

"Oh, there will be, 'Forest Gump' – there will be …" The next thing I knew, she'd stretched close enough to my ear to softly blow in it.

Trouble … nothing but trouble, she is … I thought to myself, with a rueful smile.

"Any brothers, then … since you weren't blessed to grow up with a sister?" She was joking, but she didn't realize that this was the other reason I didn't talk much about my family.

My brother.

"Um … yeah. One brother. Marcus. Younger than me—seven years younger." I hesitated before continuing.

"Ye gods—_another_ Foreman male running loose! What's his story?"

"He's … not running around loose, Alison. He's … in prison."

You know how, when you're at a critical part of a relationship--when you've just revealed something about yourself that may cause the other person to run as far away as possible from you? The gut-wrenching realization that you and that other person might not make it past that point … all because you opened your mouth?

Well … here I was.

Even though Alison had seen me do a lot of morally questionable, sometimes illegal things—most of them at the behest of our insane boss, and some she participated in herself—it's a little different when you find out that someone you're close to (or getting close to) has a close relative serving time in prison for a serious crime.

I saw many of our friends at church turn away from our family when it became common knowledge that Marcus had been arrested and convicted of armed robbery. People who we'd fed in our home, and had invited us into theirs suddenly had nothing to say to us except the minimum of greetings. It tore my dad up inside … even though he tried his best to hide the pain he felt at the rejection and condemnation from people he'd considered close friends.

For Mom, who was by that time in stage two of Alzheimer's, it was a confusing, difficult time; since many of those former friends had supported her and our family through her diagnosis and illness.

And me? It just became another brick in the wall I was busily building between myself and organized religion.

Now, one of the things about my background I tried so hard to keep under wraps was known by someone I really wanted to have a real relationship with.

For the first time since I left the hospital … I was afraid.

Alison hadn't said a word … and I was afraid of looking down at her face, or asking her what she was thinking. She didn't pull away from me, though … and she hadn't stiffened in shock, either. I hoped that was a good sign.

After another few seconds, she started moving on the large rock we were on. Sitting up, leaving the circle of my one-armed embrace … she repositioned herself on the rock so that she was now sitting between my legs; having made a spot for her. Once she was in place again next to me, she reached around … bringing both of my arms around her waist, and leaned back against me. She kept one of her arms snuggled tight around the outside of mine; leaving her other hand free to slowly rub my thigh through the jeans I wore.

"Hang on to me, Eric -- as long as you want to, or need to. I'm here, and I'll listen some more if you want. Or, we can just sit like this--it'll be OK."

I found myself sitting there with this amazing person in my arms, giving me so much comfort, that the shame and fear I felt seemed to flow away from me through her closeness … her touch. It was a—benediction, of sorts.

My head dipped forward, leaning into her hair that smelled as fragrant to me as the flowers and trees around us, and exhaled a deep, slow, releasing sigh. There was nothing to say at that moment; no words could make that point in time any better than it was.

Alison had helped heal my body; now, she was healing the rest of me as well.

We stayed that way, watching the light glitter and reflect off of the slow-moving waters of the lazy river in front of us … neither of us saying a word.

I could have stayed this way, forever. Her care flowed around and through me, leading me to finish what I'd started. I'd begun the story of my brother … never really intending to finish it. But now, I knew that I had to, with her; for the first time in years.

"My brother, Alison," I hesitatingly began again, "is an adrenaline junkie—a thrill seeker. He always has to push the limits, get past boundaries, testing everything and everyone around him. He's smarter than I am—always has been. But, for him, that just wasn't as important as figuring out the next challenge."

"So, he always got into trouble," she whispered.

"Yeah—we both did, actually. He's very charismatic. Has a way of getting people to do what he wants them to do. It works on just about everyone—except for Dad, that is. Those two had some major confrontations over the years. Marcus is—was—a great athlete, and Dad wanted him to get the most out of his skills, while also getting the most out of his education opportunities. We all assumed Marcus would go to college on an athletic/student scholarship in football, basketball, or baseball—he was _that_ good. Marcus is six feet three, 240 pounds. Freakishly strong, fast, and agile. He was the sort of kid everyone wanted to play with in the neighborhood games we organized … and he was always the one who picked first."

"Did he ever pick his brother?" she asked.

"Yep. Made sure of it. It wasn't charity, either--I was a good athlete myself, although I was never in his class. But, he made sure we were almost always on the same team; and never let me forget it, either."

"I'm guessing he used that to get you to do things sometimes, that you might not have done on your own."

I was shocked. It was as if she'd seen in my mind what I was going to say next. "How did you know that?"

She let out a few harsh laughs. "You'll understand when I tell you about my relationship with my sister. But, please-- go on."

I nodded, figuring that there was nothing about sibling rivalry she hadn't learned from her own family. I looked forward to hearing _those_ stories.

"Well … as you can probably guess, we got into a few scrapes growing up. But Marcus … he never learned where the line was. He couldn't just take his lumps and learn from things. He always had to see what was around the next corner, which meant he got into more and more serious things. I tried to stop him, I really did; but it was like a drug he had to have. Boosting cars, breaking into people's houses, pick pocketing, shoplifting-- both he and I did them all. For me, though, the guilt just became too much to deal with … and by then, I could see where he was heading. I didn't want any part of jail. We did get caught together once, stealing a car … and Marcus took the fall. He told everyone, including our parents, that it was all on him. He told me—threatened me, really—to keep quiet about it, except to say that I was there trying to stop him. I guess he knew that we were in real trouble, and tried to save me from the consequences." I sighed, shaking my head at the memories of that incident. I'd never been so scared in my life.

"Dad was fit to be tied, and somehow got our minister to vouch for Marcus at court to save him from juvenile detention. The prosecutor didn't believe Marcus' story about me not being involved, and came after me, too. Wanted to put both of us away as 'truants'—but the minister, Dad's pleas to the judge, Marcus' insistence that it was all him … and me keeping quiet … left him with no options. The judge relented, letting us both off with a warning, but let the records stand in the system—sealed. That's what House somehow got a hold of—how, I still don't know. Dad tanned both our hides that night; let me tell you. It was one of the few times he punished us that way. We also got grounded, had games and hobbies taken away—the whole deal. Marcus was forbidden to play any sports for four months—which was torture for him."

"Six months later, he was arrested for trying to rob a convenience store, and beating the owner with a gun that wasn't even loaded. The cops had it all—forensics, eyewitness testimony from three different people, the injuries of the owner—and that was all she wrote. Even though the gun wasn't loaded, he got fifteen years minimum-- with no chance at parole. The only good thing was that he was sent to Joliet Federal Correctional in Illinois, so we could visit him without flying across the country. If that could be called 'good.'--that place is a cesspool."

"You visited him there?" she asked me in a quiet voice.

"Yeah. Me and Dad drove there a few times after he arrived. I have to tell you, Alison--that was the scariest place I've ever been in. But it was hardest on my brother, and Marcus stopped even seeing us … after the first couple of times. The last couple of visits—we made the trip for nothing. He refused to even leave his cell to talk to us. We wrote him, too; but the replies stopped after the first year."

"I haven't seen or spoken to him, in at least five years."

Suddenly, it was all too much. Leaving the rock we were on, I pulled my arms from Alison, and dropped down to the ground … walking a few feet away to stand alone by the bank of the river—my arms wrapped around myself, as if to ward off a chill.

I could feel Alison's eyes on me as I watched without seeing the forest across the span of the river. Instead, I saw my brother's face as they led him away; something I'd tried hard not to think of for years.

"You blame yourself, don't you? You think, if only you'd spoken up, taken some of the responsibility when you had the chance … that he may have avoided where he ended up." Her voice, soft as a feather, floated across to me from where she still sat, on our rock.

I turned to look at her, our eyes locking on each other's.

She slowly climbed down from her perch, and walked over to me. When she was a few inches away, she raised her arms, wrapping them around my neck and pulling me against her. My own arms felt like lead; a part of me wanted to hold her, but the weight of my memories held them in place.

"I was the older brother; I should have protected him, instead of letting him take the fall for the both of us…" I answered her in a bitter voice.

Her head resting on my chest, I heard her voice vibrate through us both.

"He made his choices, Eric; and from what you've told me, he knew enough about the consequences that, when there were no other options left, he chose to shield you … knowing people would hold him accountable, before they would you—instead of trying to save himself. That doesn't sound to me like he's lost forever, Eric—just, for a while."

"But, Alison … I don't even know if he's still alive in there…"

"Wouldn't they have told your family … if something had happened to him?" I never stopped to think about that.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Then, that means … you and he might find each other again. He was young when he went in; his life isn't over. He sounds like a survivor. There's a chance, Eric … sometimes, it's all you have to hang onto."

"He might not want anything to do with us when he gets out. He—"

"He's still your brother. You may have to just keep telling him that, until he starts recognizing it again." She'd turned to look up into my eyes as she spoke. Her grey-blue eyes studied my face as I thought about what she'd said. Sometime during the last few minutes, I'd wrapped my arms around her while we'd been standing there.

I slowly nodded, exhaling a long breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "You're an angel," I earnestly told her. She laughed, and shook her head.

"And you've had too much sun, baby." She started to return her head to my chest, but before she could, I leaned down to capture her lips on mine… drawing her into a deep, satisfying kiss that ended up leaving us both floating.

"Mmm … what did I do to get that?" she asked me with a small smile. I smiled back, kissing her forehead. Our eyes slowly opened, seeing nothing else but each other.

"Just for being here … with your gorgeous self!" She shook her head again, slowly, still watching me … a slow blush reaching her cheeks.

"Oh, stop it! You're embarrassing me again." She took my arm, and by silent agreement, we started to slowly walk again through the forest on "our" side of the river. I knew that there were large spaces of green, lush grass not too far away, perfect for resting while enjoying the sights of nature all around us… and guided us in that direction. The sun was almost at its' highest point during the day … the chill of the morning having long left. Now, the air was warm and breezy, carrying the sounds of animals unseen to our ears.

We were almost to the edge of the other side of the stretch of forest we were strolling through, when her cell phone went off. We stopped while she pulled it from her belt, and answered the call.

"Cameron," she spoke. She looked up at me, mouthing, "Chase." I wondered what he was doing, calling her.

"Hi, Chase. How's the salt mine? Bored stiff, huh? Yeah, we're fine. He's doing well--yeah. Even got some color back in his cheeks—hey!" I'd given her a smack on the back of her … well, back-- surprising her. I got a glare/smirk in return. "Never mind; he's just being a _child._ What's going on? Yeah? Well … we were planning on having dinner at some point tonight, yeah—why do you--oh, beer and pizza?" She looked the question at me in her eyes. I shrugged, nodding. "Yeah, that should work. What time—seven?" Another look my way, and a nod. "Sure. Come by Eric's—that's where we'll be. _None of your business, Robert._" I gave her another glance--Alison only called Chase 'Robert' when he said or did something especially … well, 'Chase'-like. "I told you the other day, Chase—anything but anchovies. I see one anchovy tonight, I'm gonna do some free exploratory surgery--you got that?" I started laughing. "Don't bring too much beer, either—I don't feel like drinking much, and Eric shouldn't have too much alcohol this soon. Yes, that's what I call him-_it's his name_, you know! Not too much beer, Chase-especially that swill you call Australian. OK. So, what's House been doing? No cases, huh? He must be fit to be tied by now. Poor Wilson—hey, ask him if he wants to join us. I'm sure he could use a break from babysitting House, and this'll give him an excuse to spy on Eric for Cuddy while he's over." I chuckled again; she certainly had everyone pegged.

"Tell him not to call or come by—Cuddy told him to leave us alone. What's he going to do—chip in on the pizza and beer? Yeah, I thought so. No, it's not rude—how many times has he invited you over, Chase? Yeah—right. Probably has a hooker lined up for tonight, anyway. Don't worry about him—just make sure you check your rearview mirror when you come over. And, be sure to knock loudly—Eric and I will be having incredible, mind-blowing sex-- so we won't exactly be listening for the doorbell. Now, have a good day in the NICU, and we'll see you and Wilson tonight." She clicked the call off, and slid the phone back into its' holster on her belt. I just stood there, my laughter stopping suddenly as I just gaped at her. She looked up at me, and shrugged.

"What? It's not like he's not already thinking it, anyway--why not give him something to chew on for entertainment value?" I just shook my head, loving this side of her … taking her hand as we started heading along the walking path we were on.

"You know that's all he's going to talk about tonight, love—that, and study us for signs of recently-completed … what did you call it? Oh, yeah—'mind-blowing' sex!'" She started laughing, squeezing my hand so hard, it actually hurt.

"That's not the worst of it, sweetie." I stopped, giving her the evil eye.

"What's the 'worst' of it, Alison Cameron; devil_ woman_!?!" I jokingly demanded.

"Just think of _all the rumors_ he's starting right now at the hospital about us…" I looked up in hthe sky, closing my eyes in despairing resignation.

"Alisonnnnn!!!"

The evil one was snickering, not even able to look me in the eye … I really had no idea she could _be_ this way. Playful, teasing, carefree … she kept her "game" face on so much, it's what I've come to expect from her.

This was nice … very nice.

By then, we'd reached the edge of the tree line, and I turned to watch her reaction again, as she caught sight of the large open area of what looked like a huge, freshly cut lawn … stretching out almost as far as you could see. There was another river several hundred yards away from where we stood, I knew; having been through this place many times before … but seeing her reactions was well worth it. I knew that she really liked this place.

"Amazing…do they keep this looking like this all the time?"

"Well, yeah … although, it's a little harder to do in the wintertime—_oww_!"

She'd used her open palm to slap my chest; not too hard, but enough to tell me that it would be a good time to hush up for a while. I tilted my head at her, grinning … and then pulled her forward with me.

"This grass is comfortable enough to lie down on—come on, I'll show you." We'd walked about fifty yards ahead, while I studied the ground between the clumps of grasses … looking for a spot that was soft and dry. Finding what I was looking for, I took off my jacket and spread it out for her to sit on, and helped her settle on it. She'd removed her jacket, too … balling it up into a pillow that she put in her lap, once she was comfortable.

"Come on, sweetie … you've been on your feet for a while. Lie down, and rest your head here."

I grinned, following her instructions … stretching out so that I could still see the sky through the grasses that were a few inches high all around us. I wanted to stay alert, too, in case we had any visitors.

"Ah, the seduction begins …" I teased her, resting on the support of her jacket and thighs.

"Maybe it does …" she answered with a smile, leaning down to kiss me … before straightening again to look around us, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. "This is just a perfect place, Eric—thanks for sharing it with me."

"I've actually wanted to, for a while … but I could never quite figure out how to ask you to come." She looked down at me in surprise.

"Really? I would've said yes—I love doing stuff like this. We could have packed a picnic."

"Even while we were fighting?" I quietly asked.

"Sure—this is a great place to bury a body!" I reached up to try to tickle her, but she held my hands away.

"OK, ok … sorry, let's not spoil the moment by having a wrestling match here—truce?" she asked in a giggling voice.

Settling down under our newly agreed-upon "truce", we enjoyed the peace of the place. After a few minutes, she started to slowly run her hands and fingers all over my neck, shoulders, back, and arms … quickly putting me in a light doze. Her touch felt so good. A couple of times, I thought I felt her lean down to nuzzle my neck. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

Some time later, I opened my eyes to see that she'd gently lifted my head from her lap, keeping her jacket under me for a pillow, while she stretched out next to me…my jacket covering her. A look at the sun's position told me an hour or so had passed; a look in her direction brought me up close to two large grey-blue eyes, watching me. One of her hands was lying on my chest … one of her legs thrown over mine.

"Sleep well?" She was smiling, brushing away some loose blades of grass that had blown onto my face.

"Mmmm… what time is it?" I yawned. "Are you hungry? We should probably go find something to have for lunch..."

She nodded, glancing at her watch.

"It's … one-fifteen. We can probably find something quick to eat, and then make it over to the movie theater. Still want to go watch something--or would you rather just head back home after we eat?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I'm not sure … I guess I still don't have a lot of energy yet; and we've got guests coming over tonight…I'm sorry about the movie, Alison…" She shook her head.

"Hey, hey … your health is more important than any movie we can go see anytime. We should go and eat, though; you need some energy foods, and so do I--trying to keep my hands off of you is tiring work!" I chuckled.

"I wasn't joking, Eric…" she told me … leaning over for a deep, passionate kiss. I pulled her on top, running my hands over her back and through her hair. She gave a little growl when my lips moved from hers, to her neck. I spent a lot of time there, caressing her using my lips … and, occasionally, the tip of my tongue … in every crevice and spot of flesh I could reach. Her skin tasted so sweet and felt so soft, I knew I'd remember this moment forever. She raised herself up on outstretched arms, still on top … looking down at me with a look of hunger, her hair mussed and wild. Reluctantly, she pushed herself off of me, and we got ready to head back in the direction we'd come.

I stood first, rubbing my face vigorously in order to regain full control, and then reached down to help her stand. She shook out her jacket, and I helped her put it back on … her smile thanking me. She did the same with my own jacket, and we took each other's hands as we started walking.

We'd gone about ten yards when we heard movement behind us; stopping in place, we glanced at each other as we turned around … both of us gasping in surprise.

A white-tailed deer had silently approached us from an unknown direction—and now stood, watching us. Alison raised her free hand slowly to her face, covering her mouth in delight. The deer was beautiful; it looked like a young adult, with a brown sheen on her/his pelt; with eyes that studied us with a strange look of intelligence.

"Eric--what should we do?" Alison whispered beside me.

"Just stay still—and watch." I told her. The three of us—two humans and one deer—remained there, watching each other … until the deer suddenly turned and loped away through the grass, towards the far trees.

We watched it go, until it entered the forest and disappeared from sight.

"That was …amazing …" Alison found her voice first.

"It sure was. I knew there were deer here, but today's the first time I'd seen one. And for him—or her—to come so close…"

Alison was smiling, the look of pleasure on her face a joy to see in itself.

"I thought about pulling out my phone, to use the camera …" I shook my head.

"The deer would have bolted as soon as you moved, hon; they're normally skittish around humans."

"Whatever you say, 'Crocodile Dundee'!" I looked up into the clear sky, shaking my head in resignation. "Smartass …" I whispered, too low for even Alison to hear—

"I heard that!"

My mistake; apparently, not too low for her hearing. Sighing, I started walking again, with her at my side.

We were almost through the first section of trees we'd entered before either of us spoke again.

"Your plan has worked, so far, Alison." I told her, without looking in her direction. I could almost feel her eyes land on me, as fast as she turned in my direction.

"What do you mean, Eric—what plan?"

"The one where you distract me from getting too bummed out over my brother, by using humor and sexual innuendo."

We walked a few more feet, before she finally answered … laughter in her voice.

"Yes, that was the plan—except, if you were feeling stronger, I would have definitely had my way with you back there when we were laying together in the grass." I uttered a dramatic gasp, covering my heart with a hand.

"You mean you've been holding back, because of my weakened condition?"

"Yeah—so hurry up and get better, willya?" We both burst out laughing, slipping our arms around each other … the entrance to the preserve finally coming into sight. I was starting to get tired, even though I felt like all I'd been doing is resting and sleeping. I'd really wanted to go out to see a movie with her, but at this point, I'd be asleep fifteen minutes into it. Getting lunch and then heading back home sounded really good to me right then.

Alison looked around, breathed deeply, and said, "What a beautiful day—you know, until Chase called, I hadn't thought about work, or the hospital, at all!"

"Cuddy sure was right—this is what we both needed … time away for us to get our 'sea legs' back." She nodded.

"Although … I suspect she had other motives, too …"

"She usually does—she wouldn't be Cuddy otherwise. What, specifically, are you thinking about?" I asked.

"Well … I think she saw us growing closer, after having made up over the article, and probably thinks we're going to come back to work wearing rings. At least, that's what the betting pool is probably set up for."

"Betting pool!" I ground out. "Don't those people have anything better to do with their time?"

"Now, Eric … you can't take it personally. She's partly right, anyway—well, except for the 'rings' part. Unless you wanna make a quick trip to Vegas, before we have to go back to work." I smirked.

"Not that that isn't an amazingly exciting idea, love … but both my dad and your family would probably kill us for not at least inviting them—or introducing us to each other's family—before we tied the knot."

"Maybe we should 'gin' something up in order to prank them all out, in retaliation for the 'pool.'" she suggested, half-seriously.

"That's not something I want to use as a basis for a 'prank', Alison--let them have their fun." I was a little on the "traditional" side, when it came to two people getting married … having been the product of one of the best marriages I've ever seen or known; my parents. It wasn't something I generally enjoyed joking about.

Alison picked up on my sudden change in mood, and came over to me. "Eric, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to make you upset. I just—"

"I'm not upset, Alison—especially not with you. It's just—kind of a sensitive subject with me, that's all. I take marriage very seriously; maybe a little too much, sometimes."

She shook her head, her eyes on mine. "You're absolutely right—it _is_ a serious thing, and too many people treat it like it isn't. I understand, and I really respect your feelings. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for anything, hon. _ I'm_ sorry, for biting your head off." We'd reached her car, and I held her door open for her, before closing it and walking around to the other side. We buckled up, she started the engine, and we were heading back onto the main road into town. She continued our conversation.

"You didn't. My own marriage didn't last long, and you've never been married-- but it's nice to know we feel the same way about it." She glanced over at me, then back to the road.

"Yes, it is. Amazing, too—you'd guess out perspectives would be different than they are, huh?" She nodded, carefully changing lanes in the heavy traffic we found ourselves in.

"Yup. You know what's really amazing to me? As time goes on, I find I have more in common with you, than I do with anyone else I spend any time around. No offense, but it doesn't seem entirely … logical … the way we've started 'clicking'—don't you think?"

"I can't disagree with you there, girl … but, what I think, is the very reason it isn't 'logical', makes it that much more real to me. If it made entire and complete 'sense', then we'd probably … just become good friends, and stop right there. We haven't; stopped, I mean …" She was smiling, and enthusiastically nodding in agreement.

"You've been thinking about us, too, I see …"

I turned a little in my seat to face her as much as I could; leaning back against the place where the passenger door met the front seat.

"Yes, I have." She was quiet for a few miles, and then …

"Eric?"

"Hmm?"

"How many kids do you want, someday—if you _do_ want kids, that is?" I did; actually.

"Two. A boy—" The question came out of nowhere, so unexpected … I answered without thinking at all.

"—and a girl." she finished.

I smiled, watching her as she turned to look over at me … with one of her own.

"What are you hungry for?" It was my turn to ask her a question. All I got in response was a raised eyebrow and a crooked grin. I sighed, knowing immediately what was going through that 'diseased' mind of hers.

"I meant _food_, you sex maniac!"

"I **know** what you meant--and I'm not a 'sex maniac'! I just thought you may have been a little … confused on what it was that you really wanted--that's all! Sheesh!" I rolled my eyes at her protestations.

"Yeah … whatever you say. Do you think you can drive us to a nice place where a brilliant neurologist and his crazy immunologist girl can get a nice salad and soup-- or would you like to swing by Chippendale's first?"

"Eric!!! Sometimes you go a little _too_ far, mister! Everyone knows Princeton doesn't even _have_ a Chippendale's!"

The car was filled with laughter; anyone watching us would wonder what we were up to … a white woman and a black man driving down the road, laughing their heads off.

Suddenly, I was seized by a great yawn, and settled further into my seat … adjusting the belt buckle a little for comfort. I closed my eyes, wishing my energy levels were higher.

"I'm going to take you home so you can sleep in your bed, sweetie …" she whispered across the front seat. I opened my eyes again, shaking my head. She glanced at me in concern.

"No, I'm fine—getting more hungry than anything else. Really. Let's get some food, someplace quiet where we can sit and talk some more. I like talking with you…" I drifted off again … feeling her eyes on me, again.

**END OF CHAPTER NINE**


	10. Chapter 10

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 10 – Alison"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None

**Alison**

Eric's drifted off to sleep in the car beside me as we left the nature preserve …during the middle of what has been one of the best days I've had in a very long time. The past few months at the hospital have been busier than usual, with more than our team's share of truly strange cases coming through the door; and then, this last one--hitting very close to home …with one of us becoming a patient, instead of a doctor.

I felt as if I hadn't been outdoors, or taken a really deep breath, in weeks.

The past few hours, with Eric ... just talking and walking while being surrounded by so much beauty … enjoying each other's company …has been like a soul recharge for me. I feel energized; like I could do a 72 hour stint at PPTH at this moment—

--not that I'd be calling Cuddy to volunteer doing _that _anytime soon, mind you.

No, it's rest and recovery for both of us; carefully reaching over to him, while still steering the car … I gently take hold of his wrist; taking a quick pulse. He looked fine, and I didn't think the exertions of the day so far had taxed him too much; still, I wanted to make sure he wasn't overextending himself. Considering what he'd been through, it's no surprise that his metabolism's not anywhere near his normal levels yet. That doesn't mean it isn't more than a little jarring for me to watch a man who's normally so vibrantly active … being limited to a few hours' worth of useful energy at a time.

I just needed to be patient, I reminded myself--make sure he ate and slept well, and help him let his body heal itself. Some doctors might have kept him on a few meds to help speed the process along; but not us. I knew as soon as he woke up from the coma that he'd want to recover this way; not pumped up with stimulants, or any other of a dozen drugs I could have put him on.

I think he was relieved that we wouldn't be fighting over _that_ part of his treatment, at least.

As it turned out, we've been in complete agreement about courses of treatments throughout this whole thing.

Well … except when he'd first brought up the whole medical proxy thing. I really thought, for a time, that he'd lost more cognitive function than we could see, when he first asked me. And I knew he saw that in my eyes.

But he'd just plunged ahead, convincing me that he'd really thought it through--and that it was what he wanted.

Me--as his primary physician. Someone who'd be in a position to overrule _everyone_ else at the hospital--including Cuddy and House--regarding his treatment. If I hadn't been so afraid of making a mistake during that whole period, I'm sure I would have noticed the heady feeling—being able to tell both your bosses what was _going_ to happen, or not—especially two extremely qualified doctors like those two.

Yeah, Alison--_nothing_ at all to be afraid of.

Righhhhht.

Of course, I'd done that sort of thing before; serve as the primary on cases, that is. But this was different. Every time I saw him, or thought about him, I struggled with thinking of him as "the patient"—as necessary as that was--in order to do my job.

But, I got through it. Barking at Cuddy in her own office, putting House in his place … yeah, I was "all that," all right.

What no one knew, or saw, were the times I cried my eyes out, alone …sitting with Eric as he slept, and pleading with a God I rarely thought of anymore to help Eric; and to help me.

I guess someone was listening.

He's going to be all right. He knows it, and I know it. Something could still happen, yes … problems could still appear, but we can—we will—deal with it.

_We_ will.

Wow.

I shake my head, feeling myself start to shift into the "let's completely define this relationship" mode again. Giving myself another mental slap on the head, I stop those thoughts in their tracks. No, Alison, I told myself--you're not going to over-process this. There will be NO picking apart, examining, dissecting, categorizing of this relationship; as if I was back in the hospital lab, running tests on samples.

No; this time, I'll still keep my head; but I'll let my heart do the leading, for once.

Besides …so far, so good—right? I smile to myself, glancing again at him, asleep next to me. The sun coming through the car windows reflects off of his ebony skin like an asphalt-paved street, right after a rainstorm.

I love looking at him. I love touching him. I love being touched by him.

Talking, joking, being with him is a joy. Listening to him is just as good; except when the twin pains of his mother's illness and brother's incarceration show though his eyes.

All I want to do is take that pain away. It hurts to see it in him …it hurts me.

Most of the time, I don't know quite what to say to him about the things going on in his family right now. His mom's in bad shape, and getting worse. His brother's incarceration has him feeling lonely, and guilty, I'm sure; for not—in his mind—doing more to protect and help Marcus. I heard it in his voice …as he was telling me the story. I'd heard the same thing in his dad's voice, when he told me about his wife's Alzheimer's.

Two strong men; burdened with so much.

I hope my being there for Eric is enough.

No more of this, I tell myself. This is a day of letting go, of letting the fresh air into cluttered, dusty 'mental' rooms. Enough time to deal with everything else in its' own time …as my dad used to tell me.

Eric mentioned salads and soups before he drifted off; I think I know just the place for lunch. I point my car in the direction of an Olive Garden restaurant I like to go to in town. We're about ten minutes away, when suddenly Eric's phone goes off, and he jerks awake. He sits up, looking around to get his bearings, sees me and the car … and, rubbing his face, pulls his cell phone from his pocket.

I give him an encouraging smile as he answers the call, listening to him clear his throat before speaking.

"Foreman."

He leans back in the seat, and I immediately take that to mean that it isn't—hopefully-- any sort of emergency.

"Hey, Wilson."

OK …maybe I spoke too soon.

"No, I'm good. I was just taking a car nap, but it's no problem—I needed to wake up anyway. No, smartass, I'm not driving—Alison is …we're going to lunch--what's up? Yeah, we asked him to invite you over; can you drop by? Great! Actually, you're there to save Chase's ass if he brings over any pizza with anchovies. Alison doesn't like them, and has threatened him with 'exploratory surgery', if he brings any. The guy eats those things by the ton; must be some Aussie thing. Seriously, though, Alison just wants you there so she can pump you for the latest hospital gossip—_ouch!_" I'd reached over and smacked him on his head at that last comment—I was getting good at smacking & driving at the same time.

"What? What do you mean--we already know what the latest is?"

I gave him a "are you _that_ clueless?" look; and then gestured back and forth between us. His mouth moved into a big "O".

And _he_ went to Johns Hopkins?---jeeze!

"Look, do me a favor—save it all for tonight. I don't want to spoil our lunch. I'm not sure—Alison, where are we going?"

I mouthed, "Olive Garden?" at him, and he raised his eyebrows, grinning in reply; guess I made a good choice.

"Olive Garden. I'm in the mood for some good soup. She read my mind, all right—and while I was asleep, too! I know; scary, isn't it? No, we don't need anything; just the pizza and beer. You will? Wilson, you don't have to do that…"

"What?" I whispered. "He wants to pay for dinner," Eric told me. I nodded, whispering again, "Eric, he makes more money than we do; _let him pay_!"

He shook his head at me a few times, amused; and then spoke into the phone again. "Sure, Wilson; if you insist. Thanks. We owe you a dinner. Any good cases come in?"

I started vigorously shaking my head; Eric took in the glare I was sending his way, and rolled his eyes.

"Whoa--sorry, Wilson—gotta stop you right there. My doctor won't let me even _think_ about work. Better not bring it up tonight, either; we don't want any trouble."

"You're learning, my friend," I told him in a normal voice. I could hear Wilson laughing through the phone.

"I don't know what _you're_ laughing about, Wilson—I'm sure she won't hesitate to boss you around tonight if she wants to, so don't go making fun of anyone just yet!"

"Ok. Yep—seven. You remember how to get to my place? Good…hey, don't let Chase buy more than a six pack of that Fosters crap he drinks. We're not letting him drive with too much of that moonshine in his system, and neither of us are drinking any of that stuff … it'll just go to waste. Are you kidding?—she'll be watching me like a hawk! I'll probably have a couple, if that. And she doesn't drink much beer, so it looks like no one's getting drunk tonight. Bud Light's fine--"

I gave him another look, paired with a raised eyebrow. He just sighed.

"—the 12oz cans, Wilson--not the 24's. Orders from '_she who must be obeyed'_. Yeah—yeah … see you then. What?—_no!_ You **don't** have to knock really loud on the door, to get our attention! That was just Alison joking around with Chase! Oh, just swell--you heard it from a _nurse_? That's it—I'm never coming back to that place! God only knows what House will do with that. I'm surprised we haven't gotten a call from Cuddy yet."

By this time, I was laughing so hard …I was in danger of losing control of the car.

"Oh, she's just _loving_ this--can't you hear? I'm _never_ going to hear the end of it. Do me a favor—pack up my locker, and ship everything to the South Pole, willya? I'm sure they could use a doctor down there. Alison, _will_ you put a lid on that giggling—I can't hear Wilson! Cool—ok, thanks for checking up, man. Yeah…I'm all right. Sleeping a lot, but hey, it's good, right? Ok—later." He clicked off the call, slipped his phone back in his pocket, crossed his arms …and then looked over at me.

I couldn't help it—I started laughing again at the expression on his face.

"_You're_ paying for lunch!" he huffed. Unable to speak, I just nodded …still laughing as we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

Entering the restaurant arm in arm, the front desk attendant called a waitress to escort us to our table. We were still early enough for the soup and salad buffet, and I watched, smiling, as Eric sampled the wonderful-smelling aromas of the soups. We followed the waitress to a table … a young African American woman with a very intricate corn roll hairstyle and a mouth that seemed half-full of gum; she was shaking her head and muttering as she led us to a table far away from most of the other customers … and a long walk to the buffet tables.

"Excuse me," I asked her, "can we sit a little closer to the buffet? This table seems a long way away—"

She whirled on me. "It's not _that _far; you can't walk back and forth for some reason?" Her attitude was abrasive, and unreasonable. For some reason, she seemed angry with us; me, in particular. Eric and I stopped walking; instead, we stood there, studying the waitress.

"Do you have a problem, miss?" Eric asked her. "We asked you a fair question about the seating. It looks like you have enough empty tables and booths available. Is there some reason you're sitting us so far away from the food?" Our arms were still wrapped together, and I could feel his anger in the sudden tightening of his arm muscles. The waitress just stood there, glaring—actually glaring—at us, before turning off in a different direction.

"_Fine_—I'll just sit you over here, where you don't have to walk _so far_." Now I was sure I wasn't imagining, or misinterpreting things. She evidently had a problem with us, and it was obvious what it was. Eric and I glanced at each other. I gave him a tiny shrug; his eyes were flashing in anger. A few seconds of silent communication between us decided things. We'd be the adults here today.

The rude waitress, whose nametag read "Cheryl," was impatiently tapping her foot as she stood next to the table she'd led us to. We walked over, taking off our jackets … Eric placing mine on a chair he held out for me, before sitting himself. He missed the exaggerated roll of the eyes Cheryl gave him as he seated me, shocking me so much that I just sat and stared after her as she walked quickly away …without even giving us menus, or taking our drink orders.

Eric was looking between me and Cheryl's retreating back, a frown on his face. "Alison?" he asked …taking my hand. I squeezed his fingers.

"Our waitress is a rude one, isn't she?" He snorted, placing his napkin in his lap.

"She'd better be careful, or her manager will be hearing from me before we leave." I looked into his face. He raised an eyebrow.

"Alison, there's no excuse for that. I didn't like the way she spoke to you, and putting us on the other side of the restaurant, like we were lepers or something, just ain't gonna fly!" He was right; still, I didn't want to see the day ruined by a waitress who'd apparently gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning at least; or, who had serious problems with interracial couples, more likely. We sat there, Eric fuming a little as we waited for our waitress to return with menus and our drink orders. I was trying to be as patient as I could, especially since I could see that Eric was itching to jump up from his chair, and go over to her. Ten minutes turned into twenty, as we watched her move around the rest of the restaurant, taking care of other people without even giving us a glance. Finally, before Eric decided to leave the table, I decided to act.

"Stay here, Eric, while I go see what's happening." He started to rise, too, but I held him in his chair with a look.

"Babe, you're upset. Let me just see what's going on—please?"

We locked eyes for a few seconds, and then he finally let out a breath …nodding. "If you need me—"

"I know. I'll be right back." I stood up, glided over to him, leaned down and kissed him in full view of everyone, then turned towards the last place I'd seen Cheryl—when I saw her on the other side of the room, near the kitchen … glaring at me.

She saw me start to move towards her, and quickly moved off in a different direction. I managed, though, to intercept her before she could reach another table.

I decided to be as polite as I could manage, in spite of the clear disdain and hate I saw on her dark face. "Excuse me—Cheryl? We've been waiting over twenty minutes now for menus and to give you our drink orders. Can you do that right now?"

She stood there, staring at me … looking me up and down; slowly, like she was measuring me for something. I didn't appreciate it at all, and glared at her. She took a step towards me, glaring as well.

"I'm busy with _other_ customers—you'll just have to wait." I shook my head, rapidly losing my patience.

"Some of these folks came in after we did. Are you going to be our waitress, or should I ask for someone else?" I asked her in a clipped tone.

Her eyes flashed at me.

"You're just _so used_ to getting your own way, aren't you?" You could have knocked me over with a feather; that's how shocked I was at hearing what she'd just said, and the bile that came with it.

"You got yourself a nice, good-looking black man …instead of staying with your own 'kind'. What are you doing with him, anyway-- playing around? Got a bet going with some of your _white_ girlfriends—or are you just needing some _real _satisfaction?" she hissed. My mouth, which had been hanging open as I listened to all of this, snapped shut. We were close enough to a table of five people, all of whom had overheard at least a part of what Cheryl had said to me. They were all in shock, watching us in silence. I knew Eric was watching, too, from our table; I prayed he wasn't heading over here right now. I wanted to deal with this incredibly rude girl, myself. Gathering myself … I surprised her by taking a step closer—not crowding her, but letting her know she wasn't intimidating me.

"None of that is your business, now, is it? You have a choice—bring our menus, or come back with your manager--your choice." Cheryl glared daggers at me, shook her head—and actually laughed …before turning her back on me, and walking away. I watched her seething in anger, as the people at the nearby table watched me.

Counting to ten, but only getting as far as four … I turned and walked over to another table, where another waitress was taking orders from a family that had just come in. I hoped I could get my words out without screaming.

Striding up to the table, I cleared my throat.

"Excuse me, miss." The waitress paused in her reciting of the daily specials to turn around and look at me. She didn't look older than nineteen or twenty—she looked like a college student, making extra money working a part time job.

"Ma'am?" As she caught sight of my pinched, angry face … her pale skin turned even paler. I looked between her and the family.

"Pardon me, but we're having a problem with Cheryl. Would you folks mind while--" I paused, looking at her nametag, "Mindy went to get the manager for me? I'm sure it won't take long, and she'll be right back."

The older man in the group, who looked like the father, studied my face for a second before answering. "No problem, miss. Mindy, please do as this lady asks. We're in no hurry." I gave him a nod and a tiny smile.

"Thank you, sir, and I apologize for interrupting your meal." He waved it away.

I turned back to Mindy, the politeness I'd somehow found for her customers now gone. "I want you to go and get your manager, and send him to that table over there—" I pointed to our table, where Eric sat watching me in puzzlement, "_right now_." I could feel myself slipping into 'command' mode; and Mindy responded like our nurses and orderlies are trained to, when they heard a doctor speak that way.

She stuttered slightly as she answered …easily picking up on my mood.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be right back, folks." She hurried to the back, as I nodded once again at the family in front of me, before turning away and stalking back to our table.

Eric watched me come and quickly plant myself back in my chair.

"Alison, what's going on? I saw Cheryl talk to you—did she say something else?" He was seconds away from a scene-- I could tell. He saw enough on my face to know whatever had happened wasn't pleasant.

"It's OK—the manager will be joining us in a moment. Just—hang on, all right. This'll be solved in a minute." Something in my voice, I think, told him to rein in the protectiveness and anger I could see on his face. I took his hand again, and watched as Mindy reentered the main dining area with a man who looked to be about our age. I pulled my eyes away from him to find Cheryl, who had seen the manager come into the room, with a look of fury on her face that she turned in my direction. I met her eyes, and crooked a finger at her to bring her over to our table. By this time, the manager had seen our interaction … and was waving her in our direction as he approached.

Mindy, I was glad to see, had returned to her table to take care of her own customers. I saw her glance once in Cheryl's direction; shaking her head, before she put a smile back on her face and spoke to the family I'd interrupted her from serving.

By then, the manager had reached us … with Cheryl a couple of feet behind him. For once, she seemed a little hesitant about what she must have known was coming.

Not our problem.

The manager introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Jack Meadows—the day manager here. Is there a problem?" He was looking between Eric and me; more so Eric's way …apparently assuming Eric was the one with the problem. That made me even angrier.

"Yes, there is," I began, before Eric could speak. He looked at me; surprise at the sharpness in my voice. I continued speaking to Meadows.

"Sir, we've been here, my friend and I, for about forty minutes. During those forty minutes, we were seated at a table farthest away from the buffet. When we asked to be moved, Cheryl was very rude to us. For some reason, she seems to have had a problem with us the minute she was assigned as our waitress. Once we were moved, we waited and waited for menus to be brought, and our drink orders to be taken. After almost half an hour, I went to speak to her about it, and she told me that I was apparently 'used to getting my own way' because I'd 'gotten myself a black man, instead of someone my own kind.' Is that just about right, Cheryl--am I misquoting you at all?" All three of us turned to look at her, Eric's face a mass of fury. And from the look on Mr. Meadows' face, he wasn't entirely surprised at what I'd just said. He crossed his arms, glaring at Cheryl …who seemed to shrink from his gaze.

"Is this true, Cheryl? Why did you seat these folks so far away from the food? We're not anywhere near capacity today. And, did you speak to them that way?" His voice was clipped and short.

"They didn't _ask_ me, at first, to be seated close to the food, Mr. Meadows. And I _did_ move them when they asked, and then we got busy …" she answered in a defensive, angry voice. Meadows stared at her for another second, and then turned to Eric.

"Sir, can you add anything to what's happened here? Did you feel she was being rude once you'd arrived?" Eric nodded, not even looking at Cheryl. "She seemed bothered as she was initially seating us; and then her response to our asking to be seated closer to the buffet was completely uncalled for."

Meadows slowly nodded. "You folks don't seem to me to be people who rush to judgments, and I have seen you visit us before, miss" he said, glancing at me. He was interrupted by Cheryl, who blurted out: "You're taking _their_ word, over mine?!?" Mr. Meadows paused, looked down at his shoes, and then slowly turned to her.

"Yes, I am, Cheryl …because you've just shown me you're in a rude mood, and now I have no doubt these folks have had a bad time in my restaurant because of it. Please go to my office and wait for me there."

"But—" she started to protest. Meadows glared at her, raising a hand to stop her from continuing.

"Cheryl—I want you to go to my office. Are you going to do what I've asked?" Mr. Meadows was furious at her apparent defiance. She turned a hate-filled look at both Eric and me, before turning away in an angry stalk towards the back … where the office was. Meadows watched her go for a moment, before turning back to us.

"May I have your names? We haven't been introduced." His politeness and professional demeanor seemed to calm us.

"I'm Eric Foreman, and this is my friend Alison Cameron," Eric told him. He shook both our hands.

"Thank you. First off, let me sincerely apologize on behalf of myself, and the restaurant. I'm not going to try to apologize for Cheryl, because only she can do that; and I don't think you should hold your breaths."

We both nodded.

"Secondly, your meal is on me today, and I hope what's happened doesn't cause either of you to stay away for good. As I mentioned, I remember seeing Miss Cameron here before; a sign, I hope, that you enjoy our restaurant …" he said in a hopeful voice.

"I do," I answered, "and I like coming here; which is one reason I'm so shocked by this behavior from one of your waitresses. It's atypical, and I'm angry that my friend also had to experience her … reaction to us." Mr. Meadows nodded; his face showing embarrassment as well as anger.

"You're certainly justified, Ms. Cameron; as well as you, Mr. Foreman. Yes, it is atypical, and it won't be repeated by her again—I can assure you of that. In fact, I can promise you won't be seeing her here anymore." There was a definite edge in his voice; Eric and I glanced at each other, while Mr. Meadows took a deep breath before continuing.

"I hope you'll stay for lunch, but I will completely understand if you're too upset to eat after what's happened. Can I send Mindy over to take care of you?" He was being so polite, professional, and apologetic without sounding too 'wetraggish'; we silently agreed to stay. Eric told him so, and Mr. Meadows smiled.

"Thank you both. Now, please let me get you your menus, while I send Mindy over to serve you. If you need anything, ask Mindy—no matter what it is. The business I have to take care of in the back won't take long, and then I'll come by to check on you later—if that's OK."

"Thank you, Mr. Meadows. And—we should pay…" He held up a hand.

"No, Ms. Cameron—I insist. It's the least we can do for the way you were treated. I wouldn't want to experience that myself, and it's not going to be tolerated here-- from anyone."

"We appreciate it," I answered. "It's just that—well, this meal was supposed to be my treat for Eric, and now he's going to _claim_ it wasn't a 'real' treat; I may never hear the end of it." I smiled at Eric; taking his hand again as I spoke. Mr. Meadows laughed a little, as Eric rolled his eyes at me … squeezing my fingers tenderly in his.

"I have a feeling, watching the two of you, that you'll work things out in the end," he told us with a smile.

"We always do, sir. And, we really appreciate how you've handled this," Eric told him. He and Meadows shook hands again.

"Yes; thank you, very much, Mr. Meadows." I agreed.

"You're both very welcome. Please—relax, and we'll be right back, as soon as Mindy's free. I'll see you again before you leave." And, at that, he was striding away with a determined walk towards his office and the encounter with Cheryl. Eric and I looked at each other again.

"Are you OK?" he asked me …concern and care on his face. I leaned towards him …wanting nothing more than to climb into his lap while he held me for a while … but instead I settled for giving him a warm, loving smile.

"Yes, I am, honey. I just … God, all I want is to get this perfect day back, and not have to—"

"Then—let's do that. Things are taken care of; we're going to relax, eat, laugh, and I'm going to proudly enjoy your company, while trying to fight off the urge to – skip dessert."

I just sat there … with my mouth once again hanging open--staring into his eyes.

He's done it again; one or two sentences, and my entire mood, my outlook, flipped over like a well-cooked omelet. He sits across from me, and somehow … the peace and light I feel around him descends on me again. I can feel his heartbeat through his palm and fingers, wrapped in mine. Floating away in his eyes, neither of us notices when Mindy came to stand by our table; watching us with a smile. The spell was broken when she quietly cleared her throat, bringing us back to awareness.

Eric and I shake ourselves out of our trance, and then turn to look up at her …who had brought our menus, two tall glasses of ice water, and a carafe of water, ice cubes, and lemon on a tray she deftly balanced in her arms. She was still smiling as she set the carafe and glasses down between us, handing each of us a menu.

"Um—I just want to say that I'm really sorry about what happened, earlier. Cheryl—well, not too many people like her around here. I didn't see everything that happened, but I can guess. I'm really sorry." She looked so sad; we felt we had to comfort her.

"It wasn't your fault; you had nothing to do with it, and thanks for coming over to look after us," Eric told her with one of his comforting smiles. I nodded in agreement.

"Sorry about pulling you away from that nice family over there, but I thought it would be better if you'd gotten the manager, rather than me making more of a scene with—her." I couldn't even say her name; determined to hang onto the regained good mood Eric had given as a gift to me.

"I don't know how you held your temper, ma'am—that family mentioned to me a little of what they overheard, and it was terrible. Anyway, Mr. Meadows said for you to have whatever you like, so please—take your time with the menus. Before I tell you about our soups today, what else can I bring you to drink?"

"Iced tea, please …sweetened, with lemon." Eric told her.

"The same for me, Mindy."

"Great! That certainly makes it easier to remember!" We laughed at her youthful excitement. "Now; today, we have beef noodle soup, clam chowder, tomato, tomato bisque, turkey chili, vegetable, pumpkin with mint sprigs, chicken noodle, and also a really good jambalaya that I love! Don't worry about the buffet; I've been asked to just take your order and bring whatever you like to your table. Let me get your tea, and I'll be right back—ok?" We nodded, and she was off in a flash.

I turned an amused look towards Eric.

"I guess we can safely say that she's _not_ related to House in any way, hmm?" He laughed.

"Not much doubt of that, love. So--now that you've weaseled out of paying for lunch, what are you getting?" He'd lowered his eyes to his menu, but I could see the barely-restrained laughter on his face.

"Just keep it up, _Mr. 'Funny Man_,' and the next meal _you_ buy for us will definitely be at the _most _expensive place in town!"

He looked up, and gave me a wink. I answered with a low-throated growl.

His life was saved by the return of Mindy (not House), who delivered our tea while waiting for our orders.

"Can I get a small house salad, with Ranch dressing on the side? And, I'm going to try that pumpkin soup—it sounds really good today." She nodded at me, writing down the order. The truth was, I was starting to feel a little 'clammy', and hoped I wasn't coming down with anything.

"Is that all you're having? Eric asked me. I smiled, nodding.

"Yeah … not all that hungry, it seems. Too bad, sweetie—if you _were_ paying, it wouldn't have been for much!"

Both Mindy and I laughed as Eric's face assumed a comically regretful look.

"Well, I'm going to have the jambalaya, with extra rice, please, Mindy. And … a BLT sandwich, too. That's …it, I think." He handed his menu back to our waitress.

I was giving him a reproachful look.

"Mindy, please bring him a small chef salad as well, with extra carrots, and Thousand Island dressing on the side—_before_ his BLT."

Eric was giving me a puzzled look. "Alison…"

"You need to have lots of vegetables, Eric. It'll get your energy levels back a little quicker—please?" I was giving him what I hoped was my most convincing, irresistible look.

He stared at me for another few seconds, and then nodded to Mindy … who I suspected was having a hard time trying not to smile _too_ much, or laugh out loud. I thought I heard a gurgle of a laugh from her, as she picked up my menu and swept off towards the kitchen with our orders.

"All right, all right … turn off the 'Bambi' look, willya … before I agree to anything else that'll be 'good for me'!" Eric groused … his chin propped up in one palm while he watched me sip my lemon water.

I wiped my face of any 'looks', lowering my eyes to the placemat in front of me, before I looked up at him, bursting out in laughter. I knew I'd probably—well, likely—embarrassed him in front of Mindy with my 'nagging', but I was serious—and determined to get him healthy again.

I risked looking at him … to see him studying me. I let out a sigh, knowing I had to try to explain myself.

"I'm sorry, Eric …I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just want you to balance out your diet a little bit, and not skimp on any nutrients. I—"

"I know what you were doing, Alison. I'm not upset—really. I just … I guess I'm not used to someone taking care of me the way you do, it takes a little getting used to. You're …quite determined about it. You were right about the salad, too. And—how did you know I like Thousand Island dressing?"

"Hon … _thank you_." I relaxed; glad he didn't get upset, or blow up at me. Some men are hypersensitive about some things, and I didn't (yet) know everything there is to know about Eric. I supposed the same was true for him; and I also guessed that we'd just have to learn as we went along, being sensitive to each other's hang-ups …and apologizing when necessary. I continued talking.

"I know I can get a little … _intense_, sometimes. Especially now … where you're concerned. I'm just—I might be a little overprotective at times. Just tell me when I get to be too much, and I promise I'll learn where the lines are."

He squeezed my hand, and then raised it to his lips … kissing my palm so gently, it felt like I'd caught a feather in my hand. My breath caught in my throat. If he only knew what that did to me…

"I don't want to change a thing about you, love," he said. "I know how very lucky I am to be here, and to be with you. I know how much you care about me. That's nothing to apologize for, in my book."

Looking in his eyes, I raised our joined hands to my cheek, and slowly rubbed it across his fingers. He traced my cheekbone with a fingertip, and I felt my eyelids start to close in response. I've never been so affected by another person's touch, as I am with his. I lose track of time, of where I am, of what I'm thinking or doing … when we're like this.

It makes me wonder again, and not for the first time … how our 'first time' will be …

My senses, heightened by his touches, registered the approach of someone towards our table. I open my eyes all the way, to see Mindy standing a few feet away, with our food on a tray … watching us with a smile. I return it, giving her a tiny nod of approval to approach.

"Here's your food, folks. Pumpkin soup with mint; jambalaya; two salads—one with extra carrots and Thousand Island. And, sir," she turned to Eric, "if you finish all this, you get a nice BLT we have for you!" She said it with such enthusiasm and fake encouragement to Eric, both she and I burst out laughing. Poor Eric—all he could do was look back and forth between us as we laughed …and then covered his face with his hands, grumbling something I couldn't make out.

I was glad I wasn't drinking anything at that moment, because I would have spewed it out through my laughter. The poor guy – even restaurant waitresses were teasing him.

"Oh, _thank you_, Mindy—maybe there's some _other_ customers you can go and embarrass, since you're now apparently under my friend's _evil _spell?" he asked her. She chuckled for a moment, before putting a thoughtful look on her young face.

"I'll see what I can do, sir--thanks for the idea!" She started to pick up her tray, when there was a loud slamming of a door. All three of us jerked in surprise, and then turned to see Cheryl storm out from the back of the restaurant … followed at a small distance by Mr. Meadows. She looked absolutely furious, with tears on her face … her clothes now changed into her 'civilian' garb. She wore a jacket, and clutched her purse on one shoulder with talon-like fingers.

As she got closer to the main entry of the restaurant, she turned in our direction … and raised her middle finger at us.

Everyone gasped at her incredibly rude behavior … and then, she was gone in a rush through the doors.

Mr. Meadows went to the windows, watching her with a red face … until she jumped in her car and sped away. Then he turned around, shrugged, and slowly went back to his office.

Mindy still stood by our table, her face pale and shocked; a complete change from the way she'd looked just two short minutes ago. Eric and I glanced at each other, and then he got her attention.

"Mindy? Are you OK?" he asked in a gentle, quiet voice. I watched her face as she turned fully towards us again.

"That … bitch …" she whispered … then put a hand to her mouth when she realized she'd said it in front of customers.

"Oh, god … I am sooo sorry, folks. I don't—"she stopped, shocked at her own reaction.

"It's OK, Mindy. Hey—why don't you go take a break for a few minutes, if you can? We're fine, here." I told her, touching her arm in sympathy.

She nodded. "Yeah … I'll be back in a bit to check on you two. I'm sorry." Then she slowly turned and started to walk away—but then, she turned back to us.

"You guys are so sweet together, and you're so nice … I hope you come here again soon."

She gave us a watery smile, turned, and slowly walked away.

"Poor girl," Eric whispered. I nodded. We really weren't all that surprised at Cheryl's behavior; we'd both had our share of rude patients over the years. Mindy, though, was learning how rough the world really was at times.

"I wish I could punch Cheryl in her mouth," I told him, tearing into my salad with a vengeance.

"I know what you mean. Let's just eat and try to put it past us?"

I sighed, nodding in agreement. She wasn't going to ruin this day for us; no way.

The rest of the lunch went, thankfully, completely normally. Eric and I both keep our spirits up by talking, joking (well; more me teasing him for one thing or another), and we even managed to get a few more smiles from Mindy, as well. She was very attentive, without being obtrusive; a skill most waitresses don't manage to pick up. We both tore through the excellent soup and jambalaya, and I sat watching Eric eat his BLT—a huge sandwich that looked more like a Dagwood, than a standard BLT. I wasn't surprised that he ordered one; judging by the number of times I'd seen him order and eat them over the months, I knew it had to be one of his favorite things to eat. We'd switched to coffee as we relaxed and chatted …and I'd decided, with him midway through the sandwich, to steal his pickle. Munching on it as he watched with a raised eyebrow, I gave him a grin.

"Who said you could steal my pickle, girl?" he asked. The voice he used was one I'd quickly come to know as his 'I'm gonna start something with Alison' voice, bringing another grin to my face.

"No one—I _let_ you be seen with me in public; the least you can do is share your pickle with me."

He sat back in his chair …both eyebrows raised above the gleam coming from his dark brown eyes.

"You—_let _me out in public with you, huh? And now I can look forward to getting a piece of my pickle back, since we're _sharing _it?

I canted my head to the side, studying him as if he was a slow child in school.

"You're catching on, pal. But—better not count on the pickle returning—it's a very good one, and I may just keep it."

"Mighty sure of yourself, there. What's to keep me from, say … secretly calling Chase to tell him you 'changed your mind' about the anchovies, or maybe waiting until you're asleep tonight …before sneaking into your room and putting your hand in a basin of warm water?" I was giggling, my eyes never leaving his. I pretended to think about what he'd said … noisily crunching on the pickle (it was a very good one) as I did.

"Well, my friend … you _could_ do those things, it's true. But then you'd miss out on Chase's funeral." Eric cocked an eyebrow in puzzlement.

"His funeral? Why wouldn't I be there for that—and what's gonna happen to him?" His voice was teasing.

"He knows—and I hope _you_ know, as well—that he'll die by my hand, if he brings _any _anchovies within a half-mile of your place tonight. As to missing his funeral …well, **you'd **be dead long before they put him in the ground; if you were to do as you suggested—most rudely, if I may say so; since I'm an _honored guest_ at your place." I sniffed in disdain; as someone who couldn't believe that she's staying with someone who could even consider doing that to a guest!

Eric was shaking his head, laughing that deep laugh of his.

"_Honored guest_, huh? More like a pain in the—"

"Hey!!" I pointed my spoon at him …trying to be as threatening as possible—well, as much as a tiny, 90lbs-soaking wet- woman, whose biggest muscles are in her hands--from constantly trying not to strangle House on a daily basis—can be.

I don't think I was impressing Eric in the slightest, judging by the smirk on his face. If I stretched across the table far enough, I think I could…

"Wait a minute—I _know_ that look! You aren't smacking anything over here, girl!" His hands immediately flew to his head, and he even scooted back a few inches to get further away from reach.

Mindy had returned while we were teasing each other, bringing a carafe of coffee with her. "Am I, um…interrupting anything here?"

"Help me, Mindy—she's starting to get physical!" Eric cried out, looking between Mindy and me. I glanced up at her as she refilled our cups, and rolled my eyes.

"What a baby! Threatened by a _little_ thing like me!" Mindy actually tsk'ed, shaking her head. As she refilled our cups and water glasses.

"Maybe it was losing his pickle, miss," she whispered, leaning down closer to my ear …but still speaking loud enough to be heard by the other person at the table. "Some men can be so … sensitive about the strangest things, I think."

I shrieked in laughter, clapping my hands in delight. Eric just gave both of us a murderous look.

"And to think I was _thinking _about giving you a big tip," he groused good-naturedly. One of the things I really love about him was the fact that he could take an awful lot of teasing and ribbing (being fully capable of returning it in spades) without getting upset; even from strangers.

Mindy just smiled, and stuck out her tongue at him; as she refilled his cup and cleared away the dishes.

"Promises, promises …" she said, giving me a wink as she turned to tend to some of the other customers around us.

As she left, I glanced around us at the nearest tables, most of them filled. Most were glancing our way, I saw … but in strict contrast to the way we'd been treated by Cheryl, there were more than a few smiles being sent our way.

I slowly took a sip of my coffee, dropping my voice as I spoke to Eric.

"Honey, have you noticed the smiles and looks we're getting?" He picked up his cup, nodding.

"Sure have; probably at _my _expense, since my companion has been mercilessly teasing me for the past half hour!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Not everything's about _you_, sweetie. How are you feeling?" His energy level had seemed to pick up, to my delight.

"Fine, babe … just fine. Some food did the trick. In fact, I was just wondering whether we should try to still fit in a movie, before the guys come over tonight." He was looking for my opinion.

For the first time in a while, I looked at the clock on the wall; it was almost two. We could fit one in, I thought; but, why rush ourselves? We had the rest of the week, and the weekend, at least…to go and see one. I didn't want to decide for both of us; Eric and I had somehow slipped into this amazing "we talk about and decide everything together" couple thing, and it felt so incredibly comfortable and easy. I couldn't remember the last thing I'd decided without thinking of him first.

"Well, it's almost two. If we left right now, we'd coming out of the movie at, oh, five thirty or so. That doesn't give us much time to get back to your place and relax before they come by. You know Chase; he's always early to stuff. He'll probably be ringing your bell at six-thirty. Let's go sometime when we won't feel so—compressed. What do you think?" He'd started nodding before I was half-finished.

"You're right. I feel so good right now, guess I wanted to take advantage of it. Well--that's not the real reason."

I reached over, and took his hand in mine. "What's the real reason, sweetie?" He looked down at our hands, a small smile on his face.

"I'm really, _really_ looking forward to holding your hand, having my arm around you, in a theater … even if it's dark, and no one can see us."

I just stared at him in awe.

"You're … so amazing, Eric. A week and a half ago, you were lying in a coma. And now—you're here, with me …"

I couldn't speak any more. Every time I stopped to think about everything that's happened over the past few days; with Eric waking up, and our relationship blossoming so quickly … I just seemed to 'freeze up' inside.

Thankfully, the man who is always there when those moments came was right next to me.

"I know … I still have trouble believing all this is real, too, Alison …"

I didn't see Eric uncertain very often; but this was one of those times. I knew, though--as much as I knew about anything-- that he wasn't uncertain about _us_. We were both still trying to adjust to all the changes our lives had been through lately; both individually and together …_that_ was what had us thrown for a loop.

The part that was 'us', felt to me like one of those California redwoods; huge, ever-present, awesome …and forever.

I raised my eyes to his, knowing somehow that he'd see my feelings in them …even when I ran out of words to say.

"It is real, darling … trust me."

He squeezed my hand.

"You know that I do, Alison." I nodded.

"I do. Come on; let's go home, and veg for a while—you with me?"

"All the way." We drained the dregs of our coffees (doctors very rarely leave _any_ coffee behind; it's a truism of the medical establishment); and stood to go. He came close to hold my jacket for me; I leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence. He leaned over, kissing the side of my head. Smiling, we turned to see Mr. Meadows approaching with one of those flat boxes you usually put pastries in.

"Mr. Foreman, Miss Cameron … I wanted to thank you again for staying with us for your meal, after what happened earlier. I'm very grateful, and I hope you enjoyed the rest of your lunch here today."

"We did; thanks, Mr. Meadows. We're both doctors; we see and deal with just about all kinds of people, and we try not to judge or blame those who have nothing to do with other people's problems," Eric told him. I was nodding in agreement.

"Doctors, hm--which hospital?" Mr. Meadows asked.

"Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital." I answered.

"Well, it must be a fine place, if you folks work there. Here; this is a small token of my appreciation—" he held the box out to us, but we both raised our hands.

"Mr. Meadows—please, you've already been so kind, letting us eat for free … we couldn't accept anything more." I protested for us both. He just shook his head.

"I noticed that neither of you ordered any dessert"—we quickly glanced at each other, and I prayed the blush I felt wasn't raging all over my face at that moment—"and so I thought you'd enjoy this coconut cream pie, with our thanks. Believe me—if you like coconut cream, and you take a taste—you won't be able to resist finishing this. Please?"

I took the box from his hands, smiling as I took a sniff. It had a fresh aroma, and I am a _big_ fan of coconut cream pie.

"I think you've made a sale, sir." Eric laughed, watching my face. I turned a baleful look to him.

"You're helping me eat this, pal! Eric came to attention and saluted, while Mr. Meadows hid a smile with his hand.

"Mindy mentioned you two were … feisty," he spoke in a laughing voice. "Please have a pleasant evening, and come back when you can. I can assure you that the person you encountered before isn't here any more; and won't be back."

He held out his hand, and Eric shook it for both of us. Mine were full with the pie box I held.

"Good day, sir. We'll see you soon." He nodded, smiling … and then turned to leave.

I paused for a moment. "Hon, would you do me a favor?"

"What's that?" Eric asked. I looked up at him.

"Loan me $20, for Mindy?" He looked at me for a second, then grinned … reaching into his wallet.

"No loan, babe—it's from both of us." I started to protest.

"I owe you $10, then…" but he shook his head. "We're not keeping count—agreed?" Our eyes locked; this was an important point in our relationship; deciding how we'd spend money together. It was a "deal-breaker" for many couples.

But not for us.

"Okay. But—you're _not_ getting any of my ice cream with this!" I raised the box at him.

He shrugged, happily nodding his agreement. "Oh, don't worry about that, love—I'm not gonna be asking for any of 'that' stuff!"

I pretended to start throwing the box at him. "Start marching!" He laughed, slipping an arm around me as we walked to the front greeting area.

We looked around for Mindy. She was standing near the greeter's stand at the door. We headed in her direction. She saw us coming, and smiled.

"I see Mr. Meadows talked you into the pie," she said.

"Wasn't much of a pitch, Mindy—Alison's going to stuff her face, as soon as we get home." Eric told her. I tried to kick him, but only half-heartedly … because there may be some truth in what he said.

The stinker.

I instead glared at him, tilting my head towards Mindy. "Give it to her, before this turns ugly!" He held up one hand, and then reached over to Mindy …taking her hand to place the $20 in it. She shook her head, trying to give it back.

"This—no, this is too much. It's not necessary—" she protested, but we were adamant.

"Yes, it is. You deserve it, and we'd like you to be our waitress next time we're here," I told her, making sure that the greeter could hear us. Judging by the smile on her face; she definitely had. Mindy just looked at us.

"I'd love to—thank you, both of you. Are you guys going to Princeton?" We shook our heads.

"Well-not quite. We work at Princeton Plainsboro-we're both doctors there," Eric told her. Her eyes went wide.

"Oh, cool! I'm going pre-med at Princeton--this is wild!" She was bouncing on her feet in excitement.

Eric pulled out his wallet again. "Here's my card—give us a call over there sometime, if you can. Maybe stop in for some bad cafeteria food, or even follow us around for a day. We work in the Diagnostics Department. Dr. House is the head—don't mind him if you speak to him. He's … well, you'll see. Great doctor, though. Anyway—let us know how things are going with you, ok?"

Mindy took Eric's card, carefully studying it. "You're a _neurologist_! See—didn't I tell you they were the sweetest people?" Mindy asked the greeter … who smiled.

"If you think you're going to follow them home, or something-- you're nuttier than a fruitcake—we're going to be getting the dinner rush pretty soon; and we're one pair of hands short." Mindy just rolled her eyes, while we laughed.

"Alright, alright—goodbye, Dr. Foreman, and Dr. Cameron! I will call you—I promise!"

"Good! See you guys!" I said as Eric held the door for me, and the pie.

We were outside, in the bright sunlight of mid-afternoon … heading back to my car, when Eric spoke again.

"Hey, babe—give me that, so you can get your keys." I gave him a suspicious look.

"Don't be sneaking any while you're holding it, now!"

"Yes, ma'am. I know-- judging by the look on your face--that you're planning on burying your face in it as soon as we get home …"

"Am not!" I protested, opening the car doors …watching him carefully as he maneuvered into the front passenger seat; then gently placing the pie box in his lap.

"Are, too!" I threw a fake glare his way as I climbed in and started the car. "I'm _not_ arguing about this with you any more, since you're wrong—as usual. Do we need to stop at the store on the way—we have everything we need?" I asked him, deliberately changing the subject. Fact is, I was thinking a little too much about that pie …and needed a distraction—pronto.

"Hmm …good question. And a good distraction, too …even if it didn't work!" I reached over to slap him, but he scooted as far away as he could …looking down at the box in his lap. "Watch it—or this pie may end up in a place neither one of us wants!" he threatened.

"Well, since you're holding _my_ pie hostage … I suppose I'll have to call a truce—for now. But I owe you one, mister!"

"Yeah, yeah …tell it to the judge…" he threw back, laughing. I couldn't help it; I laughed, too.

"I'll answer your question about the store, if you'll answer my question about the Thousand Island dressing—how did you know that's what I like on my salads?"

"Don't you _ever_ let _anything_ go—jeeze!"

"No—now, answer the question; or the pie gets it!"

"OK … ok … just settle down over there, Sparky. Let's not do anything foolish! Sheesh! Even though you and the rest of the team make fun of me for eating so much salad, I've seen _you_ enjoy a few along the way, Mr. Foreman. And, well … I always notice you like to get them with Thousand Island dressing. Don't blame me for being an observant girl!"

He was watching me carefully, I could tell, from across the front seat.

"You were watching me! Lusting after me, even then …memorizing everything about me, categorizing me—I feel so … cheap, so, so … used!" This time, I risked taking my eyes off of the road to give him a double eye roll.

"Oh, _please_! _Will_ you just get over yourself already! It's salad dressing—not a bloody Sherlock Holmes mystery!"

"_You _read Doyle?!?" he exclaimed, chuckling. I smiled, and nodded.

"Yeah. You find that strange? They're good stories, and they help me practice trying to keep up with House and his deductions."

He was laughing harder now. "Well, I'll need to show you my bookcase when we get home; you obviously haven't noticed that I have every single Holmes story in my collection. Been reading him for years, since high school. You're right—they are good brain tuners for the stuff we come across sometimes."

"Oh, my god!" I cried out, "another formerly hidden thing we have in common! I mean, I don't have all the books myself … but I bet I've read all the stories."

"What's your favorite?" he asked.

"I don't remember the exact title, but it's the one with the dog on the moors, or something like that. I heard House refer to it, once … when he said that 'the dog didn't bark' during one of his out-of-his-ass diagnosis. That's one of the spookiest ones. What about you?"

"Oh, I don't really have a favorite; I just like them all. To me, they're smart, funny, and a lot more challenging than your basic 'Law and Order' episode." We were heading back to the store in his neighborhood; I had a feeling he wanted to get some things he didn't have.

Once again, our amazing new connection proved me right.

"Alison...we should get some of that tea you like at the store. I need to get some more bottled water, because I'm thirsty a lot getting over this head thing, along with some other odds and ends."

"Okay, sweetie. Thanks; I was thinking I'd sneak back over to my place to get some of my teas, but then I remembered that I was just about out of it at home." He nodded.

"And, since you're not feeling 100 yourself—" he continued in a careful voice. I froze in my seat for a second.

"Who _said_ I'm not feeling 100?" I demanded. Eric slowly shook his head.

"Alison … I may not have my medical privileges, but I can still observe and diagnose. You really didn't eat much for lunch, and you've been cringing a little, every time you swallow. You're coming down with something, and all that lack of sleep is catching up to you."

I was amazed. I'd thought that I'd hidden it from him well enough so that he wouldn't notice anything. I knew he'd start worrying, and I didn't want him to worry about me. _I_ was supposed to be taking care of _him_.

"I haven't forgotten everything you put yourself through, tending to me …" he continued in a quiet voice, "and even though I'm grateful for all of it, I _know_ that you're still tired, and that you're probably getting a cold or something. So, we're going to make a pact; right now. You're going to let me take care of you, as much as you're taking care of me. This time away from work is supposed to be for both of us to recover—remember? And you're _not_ going to deny anything, or not tell me _everything_ about how you're feeling …because I can't recover, knowing you're not feeling well … and also, because I really, really care for you. So--we have a deal?"

I lifted a hand from the steering wheel, rubbing my eye. I didn't want to become some crying baby around him, but once again …he'd seen right through me. I realized, too, that I was wrong not to mention how I was starting to feel; I'd promised myself that I'd be completely honest with him.

I needed to be as true to myself, as I was to him. He'd suffer, otherwise …because he'd worry about me, I knew.

He wanted to take care of--and be there for me--as much as I wanted to take care of him.

Sitting patiently beside me as we pulled into the supermarket lot, he remained quiet while I found a spot and, turning into it, shut off the engine.

I turned to him, finding his eyes.

"You're right, Eric. I …don't feel my best. My throat's a little sore, and it's been getting worse the past few hours. And I guess my appetite isn't quite there, after breakfast this morning. I just—didn't want to say anything, so you wouldn't worry. You know me—I don't like being sick, or 'fussed over' …and I guess I'm being a little childish about it. I _am_ tired, too; I need to catch up on sleep. I'm sorry, sweetie … you have my word; I'll tell you how I am from now on. And…"

I released both of our seatbelts, and took the pie from him …placing it on the backseat, before turning to him …moving as close as I could. He watched me, still silent, as I took his face in my hands, and caressed his cheeks with my palms.

"I know what you're feeling, and I care—so much—for you, too, Eric."

I slowly brought his face to mine, softly kissing him. His arms came around me, surrounding me in his warmth. I love being close to him …having his soft, large lips on mine, our tongues exploring each other's mouths.

It was a few more minutes before we finally broke for air … Eric still giving me little kisses.

"Just … don't let it happen again or …" I didn't want to talk anymore just then; figuring the best way to do that would be for me to just start kissing him again. So, I did.

I groaned into his mouth as his hands slipped into my hair, his fingers running through the soft strands I'd let grow a little longer the past few months. I was glad that I did, because having his fingers in them was heaven to me. Then, he slowly moved them to my cheeks and neck … his lips leaving mine to find their favorite spot near my earlobes.

I think both of us growled then; I couldn't be sure.

Then I heard him draw a deep breath, his exhalations next to my sensitive ear driving me wild.

"Alison …store …" he managed to force out. I reluctantly nodded, trying to catch my own breath. I wasn't thinking about anything, except reaching down to unbuckle his jeans; the word 'store' brought me back to full awareness of where we were.

Damn it.

Sighing, I mentally forced my thoughts and desires back under control. I didn't know how much longer I could stand this, and judging from the pools of heat that were Eric's eyes at that moment; he didn't, either. We slowly pulled apart, and reluctantly opened the doors, climbing out of the car.

Our eyes hadn't broken contact at all during all this.

I walked over to his side of the car, sliding my arm around his waist. He responded by laying an arm on my shoulder, and we headed for the sliding entrance doors of the market.

Quickly moving through the aisles, we gathered the water, teas, a couple of cartons of juice, and a few more staples. Eric also bought some Tylenol. I just hoped I hadn't given him any cold germs during our make out session in the car. His immune system was worse off than mine, at the moment; even though he was rapidly recovering.

We quickly went through checkout, and were back at his place by three-thirty. Once we'd put everything away, he checked his messages. His dad had called to check in, and Chase called to warn us that Cuddy'd found out about our little gathering tonight, and might stop by herself to, as he put it, "check on you guys, and see if you're having 'fantastically gymnastic' sex all over the place."

Eric and I just looked at each other and laughed. "They'd never believe the truth," I said.

"They wouldn't believe anything they didn't want to."

"True, 'tis true," I answered, yawning. He was at my side in a flash, a hand on my forehead.

"You're a little warm, girl." he told me.

"_Your _fault for getting me so worked up in the car, sweetie," I replied …a wan smile on my face. I'd finished the tall glass of water I'd poured for myself, when he took my hand. "Come on," he whispered.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he led me down the short hall, to his bedroom. Pushing the door open, he brought me over to the bed, pushing me into a sitting position. Kneeling in front of me, he started removing my shoes.

"_What _is going on, mister?" I asked him, several emotions on my face—and in my voice, too.

"You're taking a nap, that's what; before the gang arrives. You're going to sleep till five; and if you feel worse when you wake up, I'm calling off the get together. We'll do it some other time. Now, lay down like a good little beautiful immunologist." I gave him a mock salute, yawning again … his bed apparently drawing all ability to stay conscious out of me. I laid back, my head resting on his pillows as he lifted my legs onto the bed. I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of his hands on my feet. The room was quiet, except for our breathing, as he sat next to me …watching me drift off to sleep.

Some time later, before I'd fallen completely asleep … I felt him slowly get up from the bed, being careful not to wake me. My hand reached out for him.

"Please, Eric … stay, until I'm asleep, OK?" I whispered. He didn't answer; I wondered if he'd even heard me, when I felt him slide onto the bed behind me as I lay on my side. Our bodies slid naturally into the "spooning" position as he pulled me against him with one arm. I slid back against him as much as I could; laying my arm on top of his as he held me around my stomach. I felt his warm breath on my neck as he gently kissed me there.

"Go to sleep, love. I'll be here when you wake up," he whispered to me. I smiled, sleepily … pulling his arm even tighter around me.

Between the quiet, still room, the comfortable bed, and Eric next to me … I was asleep in seconds.

I woke later to find I'd changed position a little from the way I remembered, before sleep found me. When my eyes opened, all I could see in the long shadows and subdued light of the room was Eric's strong, muscular neck a couple of inches from my face … his Adam's apple moving occasionally in a rhythm all its' own. I was still on my side; I'd flipped over during my nap … with my head nestled comfortably between his shoulder and chest. I felt his arm still snug around me, his hand slowly moving up and down my spine. Fingers that stroked the skin underneath my shirt followed some arcane, pleasurable dance, telling me their owner was awake.

My right arm lay between our bodies, more in touch with his than mine. And somehow, my left hand found its' way onto his neck; convenient, I thought to myself, starting a dance of my own with my fingers kneading the area of warm skin just underneath his earlobe.

The tightness in my throat that I'd felt earlier was looser, and I tried a couple of exploratory swallows. Not perfect; but hopefully not heading into a full-blown cold, as I'd worried about earlier.

No, nothing to worry about … just enjoying laying next to him, feeling our hands on each other … was all I needed in the world at that moment.

"You awake, love?" came his low, soft voice as it floated across the short distance from his lips to my ear.

"Mmmm…" was all I managed as an answer. My body was in such a state of relaxation, I didn't want to do much more than that.

"Feelin' better?"

"Mmm hmm…" I did, too … sleeping close to Eric was turning out to be the best medicine for whatever ails me.

"Good." I felt him place a kiss on my forehead, and smiled. I leaned in to return it in the only place I could reach at that moment; the soft folds of skin underneath his chin. I felt his answering smile in response.

"Wha' time is it?" I asked, letting a small yawn loose.

"A little after five. Relax; we have time."

"mmmm…" I don't think the language portions of my brain were quite awake, just yet.

"I'm glad you decided to stay with me here this week, hon," Eric whispered. "Except, now, my bed smells like you. Wilson and Chase are going to have a field day with that." I chuckled into his chest.

"And why would they be anywhere near this bed, pray tell, in order to smell anything?" I teased him.

"Hmm-good point. We can use that against them, somehow, in the upcoming 'hospital rumor' wars."

I pulled myself up onto my elbow, as Eric loosened his hold on me enough to lay on his back … looking up at me. I'd planted my chin on his chest, staring down into his eyes.

"Are you that worried about what people will say about us, Eric?" He met my look with a sober gaze, shaking his head.

"No; well, not for me, at least. I just worry a little about the effect on you. Not everyone's going to be like Mindy, Alison. We're going to encounter some more Cheryl-like attitudes along the way, too." I studied his face for a moment. I knew that he was right … and that he wasn't just referring to House.

"I know, Eric." I stretched an arm across him, my other hand resting on his shoulder furthest from me. "I realize that some people will have problems with this, but … seriously—why buy any more worry than we already know's coming for us? I expect our friends will be OK with us; Chase will struggle a little, since he still has a thing for me … Wilson and Cuddy will be on our side, and House—well, he'll just have to deal with it. I'll tell you something, though," and at the change in my voice, Eric's eyebrow rose, "I'm _not_ going to sit and take the little comments and digs House is going to send our way. He's getting it back; as good as he gives … as mean as he is. He'll be thrown off by it; he won't be expecting that kind of response from me, only you; all he'll want is to cause friction between us, so that he can spread his own kind of misery and observe our behavior; like we're all his little 'Steve McQueens'. You know, that's the perfect kind of pet for House-- a rat." Eric was chuckling, bringing a smile to my face as I tried to keep my unruly strands of hair out of my face while we talked.

"You're right; and you sure do have House pegged. Don't worry-- I'll be right beside you; when he sees our 'united front,' he'll have to change strategies. We'll need to be on our toes, at that moment; because that's when he's most dangerous." I nodded. "So," he began, " I take it then that we're not going to change the way we are around each other, because the guys are coming over later?" I vigorously shook my head.

"No, I don't want us to, Eric. They have to get used to seeing us together, and tonight's as good a time as any to start. Anyway, I can't think of anyone I feel a need—or a reason--to act differently around … do you?"

He was thoughtful and quiet; I wondered what (or who) he was thinking about. I got my answer fairly quickly.

"What about your family? You haven't really talked much about them; even before … us."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. Lots of reasons for that. First off; you should know that I'm not on good terms with my family as a whole," I hesitatingly began, knowing that this was going to be a pretty intense conversation for the next few minutes. "I'm the middle child; my brother Frank is the oldest, and my sister Cheryl is the 'baby' of the family. Dad's a retired finance guy, and Mom's your typical upper-middle class civic-minded, 'social calendar'-type wife. You know I was born and raised in Naperville, outside Chicago?" He nodded. "We were—are—pretty well off; Dad ran his own company for years and years … and did very well. Financial services; don't ask me to explain everything that means; even now, I still don't understand it all," I told him, watching him smile.

That calming, warm smile … along with his attentive, inquisitive facial expression; helped me keep my emotions in check. Talking about my family isn't the easiest thing for me. Some of the things I felt led to tell Eric the details about weren't even known by Cuddy, Wilson, or House. This was the first time since I'd arrived in Princeton from Minnesota and the Mayo Clinic--where I'd worked before getting the fellowship with House—that I felt like I was in a secure enough place to talk about this with any of my co-workers. Eric seemed to sense all of this; not saying a word, but letting me talk on my own terms. I loved him for that.

Chase would have pelted me with questions … instead of letting me get the story out on my own.

I was fully awake now, and wanted to adjust my position on the bed. I was still comfortable, but I didn't want to keep laying half-across Eric, while I related my sad tale to him. He seemed content to stay where he was, but I was still hypersensitive to causing him any discomfort at all; so, I pushed myself up and off of him, and watched while he changed into a seated position on the bed, moving the pillows between his back and the headboard of his bed. I waited until he was settled, and then moved to recline next to him; his arm draped around my shoulder. I laid my head on his shoulder, and stretched out my legs next to his.

"Anyway … Dad's a retired CEO, and Mom's a retired schoolteacher. Frank was in the Navy--Naval Intelligence; he left as a Lt. Commander to start his own security firm, and does very well for himself and his family. He even has some 'spook' connections that he hasn't told me much about. Says he'd 'have to kill me if he told me'; the jerk."

Eric laughed. "And … what about your sister-Cheryl, huh?" I immediately picked up on the irony in his voice; considering the type of encounter we'd had with another Cheryl not too long ago.

"You've heard the theory that every family has a flake; an 'airhead' type who doesn't seem to fit in with the rest? That's my sister. Knew before she was out of my mom's womb that she was 'the baby'-- and did her level best to fit the stereotype." Eric was laughing again; probably at the tone of my voice, which told him more about the relationship between my sister and me … than any words I could choose at that moment.

Faking annoyance with him, I crossed my arms … throwing him a look. "Finished yet, chuckles?"

"Yes, Your Grace. My apologies for the untoward frivolity, and the interruption; it won't happen again—I give you my word, as a lord of the realm. Please; continue with your telling of the tale of the House of Cameron!"

He sounded so much like something straight out of Tolkien that I started to laugh … along with coughing a couple of times, which led him to start rubbing my back. I let out an audible sigh; Eric had great hands. He also had a whimsical side to his nature that really appealed to me; you just wouldn't think it, to look at him. Turning more on my side, away from him so that his wonderful hands easily reach my back and shoulders … I reminded myself that he routinely came up with some of the most imaginative diagnosis for the cases we worked on; and no one, I believed—with the possible exception of Wilson—inspired House in new diagnostic directions, than Eric. That he could so easily turn his fertile imagination in other directions made being with him … more exciting.

Once my coughs subsided and I'd turned back around, I watched his face as he sent an amused smile my way, and I returned it. Snuggling closer within his arms, I continued … playing one of our games as I did.

"You are _most _understanding, my lord. My tale will now proceed hence." Stifling a chuckle of his own, I returned to my normal, 21st-century voice.

"I love my sister; I really do. We helped each other through puberty and the dreaded early teen years … and boys, of course," I told him, "but she and I have never been especially close. There are lots of reasons, I guess … but it's just the way things are. She's flighty, impulsive, attracted to the pleasure side of things a little too much, and is generally hypersensitive about what people think of her. Just about my opposite image, you'd say. But, she's my sister … and I would do almost anything for her." Eric nodded; I saw his thoughts of Marcus in his warm, brown eyes … and knew that he understood.

"Now, Frank and I," and at the thought of my brother, I smiled from ear to ear, "we're like peas in a pod. We're more alike than almost anyone else in our family, and he's always been my 'big brother'; walking me to and from school when I was a kid, scaring off all the boys who showed even a hint of interest in me because he didn't think anyone was good enough, teaching me how to drive … the best ways to sneak out of the house …"

I felt Eric's chest rumble with laughter, and I chuckled a little myself … remembering the things Frank and i'd gotten into together, growing up.

"Your dad didn't teach you how to drive?" Eric asked. I shook my head.

"Dad was gone a lot, traveling so much … building the business and expanding his contacts in finance; he missed a few things. Frank filled that role as much as he could, but he always did it with the understanding that he was just 'subbing' for Dad … and never let me think that I was being neglected or ignored. I knew--I know, that my Dad loves me … he's just one of those men who were raised not to show a lot of emotion, and is uncomfortable with emotional displays from his crazy wife and daughters."

I paused for a few moments, traveling back in time to my childhood … looking for things, events, times that would show Eric what I meant; how I feel, about my father.

"When he was home, every night … he would come in and tuck me into bed. He'd tell me about his work, and answer my questions, no matter how silly they were … and then when I started to drift off, he'd kiss my forehead, whisper that he loved me, and turn out the light. That's … my father. I was always—and still am—his little girl. I'm closer to him than Cheryl is; she's more like my mom, and they are pretty close, but I am definitely my father's daughter. He was the first person to encourage me to become a doctor."

My eyes seemed to be looking off into a corner of Eric's bedroom … but my sight was really focused on my life back in time … fifteen years and more into the past. Eric's voice brought me back to the present.

"So … what happened? Was it something between you and your Mom? You haven't said much about her…"

"No—well, yeah, it was, in a way. Everything changed when I decided to marry Ron, after he'd been diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. My family … no one—well, except maybe for Frank--understood why, and things got … tense."

"They turned their backs on you?" he asked in a quiet voice, full of compassion.

"Pretty much. I mean, we can talk to each other; if we happen to be in good moods, and the moon is in the right quadrant of Sagittarius…"

Eric said nothing; the small smirk he allowed to slip onto his face spoke volumes instead.

"Seriously; they call me a couple of times a year—"

"A year?" he blurted out in amazement.

"Yes … if that. See … my mom and sister thought I'd lost my mind. Neither of them could understand why I'd marry a man who wasn't expected to live more than a few more months. My Dad was … confused, and angry that I would willingly put myself through something like … that."

"And Frank?" he asked.

I sighed. "My big brother has always known me better than I knew myself. He was the only person in the world who wasn't entirely surprised at my decision; and, even though he had a hard time accepting it …he tried to be as supportive as he could. He was my lifeline to the rest of the family; playing the diplomat, the negotiator, the go-between … I think that if it weren't for him, things would have just broke, staying that way; even though we all love each other."

"Love makes you do things … or not do things … you wouldn't normally do, I think …" Eric murmured after a few minutes of thought. "It's the price you pay, for opening yourself up to it."

He was introspective, and thoughtful. I liked this side of him; he was one of the most sensitive people I'd ever met in my life … if he'd only allow himself to express it more. I had the benefit of watching him for ten hours six days a week; people who didn't know him as well would probably miss that part of him.

Their loss, I thought to myself … smiling without quite realizing it.

"Oh oh—_that_ smile has been known to cause DefCon alerts! What's running through that mind of yours, girl?"

I giggled. "Oh, _shut up_—I was just thinking about what you just said; and the amazing depths to your being that I have yet to plumb."

He enthusiastically nodded. "You'd better believe it, girl—that's me, deep, mystery man extraordinaire!"

I rolled my eyes, knowing in our present position that he wouldn't see it.

"I _felt_ that—you just rolled your eyes!' I sighed.

OK, maybe not …

"Yeah—so what? What are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing," he answered … in a voice that made me very suspicious all of a sudden. "Except tell Wilson that you and I were making out on the couch right before he arrived."

"Eric!" I reached up to slap his chest with my palm, but he caught my hand … holding it away from him.

"_If_ you promise to keep the eye rolls down to zero for the rest of the evening, maybe—just maybe—I won't have to tell Wilson."

"You mean _lie_ to him, don't you?"

Eric pulled me closer. "Now, who says that I'd be lying?" And then he proceeded to kiss me, with an amazing mix of tenderness and passion.

It was a long while before I could catch my breath again.

"Whooo..." I whispered, when we'd finally released each other.

"Wow, girl…" he breathed … trying to regain control over his breathing, too. Hey—if he's gonna do it to me, I'm gonna do it right back to him.

And that sounded just a little bit dirty … I told myself, grinning on the inside.

Our faces were just a couple of inches apart, me resting comfortably in his arms. I laid my head on his shoulder, watching the last sunlight of the day leave the room. I thought about us, my family, Cheryl and Mindy(not House), Eric's family, our work at the hospital … all of it bringing me to one question.

"What's happening between us, Eric?"

I was surprised that someone had asked the very question that I was just thinking about; and then I realized that _I'd_ spoken out loud. Eric was quiet; not answering right away. He wasn't shocked, I could tell; his body would have told me otherwise.

Which told me that he'd been thinking about the same thing.

"I'm … not sure, exactly. We … haven't been acting like we did, before … that much is obvious. We have all of these …things …in our history—very recent history—but it doesn't feel like that matters all that much. Ever since I woke up in the hospital, you've been the one constant in my thoughts. I was _so_ glad, Alison … that you were there when I did wake up. And—when I joked about remembering House as that 'manipulative bastard,' you laughed … a laugh that I'd never heard from you before. You were crying, and laughing …and I remembered thinking, 'She's _here_, with me…' and never wanting to feel what it would be like _not_ to have you close by."

He paused for a moment.

"Then, I started giving myself the standard neuro-cognitive tests, because I'd thought that I'd lost my mind at some point."

I laughed, hearing the teasing joke in his deep, serious voice. I moved a hand to his shirt, tracing a pattern from his chest to his shoulder, and back. I felt more than heard the sigh that told me he was enjoying the contact.

"I'm not sure we should even try to reason this through all the way, Alison … I mean, there's so much to feel, and explore …I've learned so much more about you these past couple of weeks; but it's not enough. I want to get to know you--_this_ you, a lot more. I want to just spend time with you, talk to you, watch you think, smile, laugh, and sleep…"

I slowly smiled, closing my eyes in delight at what I was hearing.

"I know I'm not making any sense, am I? What do _you_ think is happening—you're the one with the unimpaired brain, after all!" We both laughed. Again.

"Finally--you admit it!!" I teased him; if only to gain more time to think about my answer to his/our question.

"Don't go getting a big head about it, or anything …" he groused, ruffling my hair before stroking it back into place. I smiled, thinking about everything he'd said … quiet in my own head for a few minutes, while he patiently waited for me.

"You're making a lot of sense to me, sweetie. While you were still sleeping, and I sat there …watching you, I thought about everything that had happened …and at that point, all I wanted was to give you back to your dad—whole, and healthy. And …I wanted my friend back, too. The one that I'd missed--more than I realized, for so long."

"I thought about the things about you that made me think of you as a friend in the first place; and I realized that, even though we worked side by side, seventy hours a week … I wanted to get to know you even better. Maybe …maybe part of what happened with the article, was because we didn't know each other as well as we thought we did … and we both started assuming things. I was angry, and hurt—but after you got sick, and things got to the point when I forgave you …"

I suddenly sat up, causing him to release me from his arms. I missed being there, but I wanted to see his face, and look into his eyes.

"I prayed you'd fight to come back, so that you'd be here …and so we'd get a second chance—like I told you before. I sat in that chapel—sometimes with your dad, sometimes just by myself—and prayed for you to come back. And when you finally woke up, I thought I saw in your face the same things that were in my heart. That's why I was crying, and laughing …other than being _so_ glad to see you open your eyes again."

I was sitting close, facing him on the bed. He was holding my hand, watching me as he listened. I couldn't think of any other man who paid me this much attention while I spoke, and wasn't looking down my blouse (or whatever type of shirt I happened to be wearing at the moment), at the same time.

Once again, we'd joined hands without realizing it. I broke eye contact with Eric, looking down to watch them. His were so big; my entire hand seemed to disappear inside his. Our fingers were laced … with his strong, calloused fingers rubbing mine. Clearing my throat, I continued speaking.

"I stayed with you as much as possible; leaving pretty much only when one of the others was examining you. I think I started to scare Cuddy and Wilson a little bit, after a while; I just didn't want to go home--or sleep, for that matter. All I could think about, when I wasn't thinking about us … was that I didn't want to leave you. Something told me I needed to be there. I'm not sure why."

"Maybe because I needed you to be there," he spoke for the first time in a while. I quickly looked into his eyes.

"What do you mean, Eric?" I asked him, slowly shaking my head … a little puzzled at the change in direction of his thoughts.

He blew out a breath; … glancing over at the darkening windows of the room, before answering.

"I think … you may have saved me twice, Alison. The first time, with the biopsy; and then, afterward … always being there for me to draw strength from. Because--during those few times that you weren't in the room when I was awake--I felt listless, and more tired than I usually did. You always seemed to know, before I did, when I was hungry, or thirsty, when I was too cold or too hot; or too tired to keep my eyes open--even when I needed to use the bathroom. After a while, I just—relied on you, until I started to feel back in control of my own body again. At first, It was just more of the trust I had in you; but as we had little talks here and there when I was strong enough, I started to feel … more.

I looked into his face, thinking again about the thing I'd been thinking about, for several days now …

What does "more" mean, for us?

I knew that I was in this strange, unfamiliar place with my emotions and instincts … where, up until a certain point, I felt as secure and as confident about a relationship as I'd ever had; past that same point, though … there was … a greyness that I couldn't see through, or get past in my mind.

It sounded to me as though Eric was experiencing the same thing. My new sensitivity to his thoughts, emotions, and moods gave me an ability to "read" him in a much, much deeper way than I'd ever been able to before. He was trying, as I was, to "see" through the indistinct, grey part of what had grown between us; probably because our personalities were alike in needing to see all of the steps of the path in front of us; whether that was possible, or not.

He shook me out of my inner thoughts when he moved off of the bed, pulling me with him by the hand.

"Come on," he said … giving me a smile. I rose off of the bed, standing next to him.

I smiled back … for a moment, wanting to ask him where we were going. But, I didn't.

Our trust in each other was enough for me to follow him where he went. He led me out of the bedroom and into his living room, where he guided me to the middle of the room. I watched him, slightly puzzled as he slid the coffee table back against the couch with a foot, and then … looking in my eyes for a moment, before releasing my hand to turn to his stereo.

"What are you doing?" I whispered to his back, as he sorted through a stack of CDs next to the player. After a couple of moments, he apparently found what he was looking for … because he nodded, slid the CD into the player, punched a few buttons … and then turned back to me, holding out his arms to me.

"Dance with me, Alison," he asked in a voice I'd never heard from him before. I cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Um, hon—three things. First, there's no music. Second, you know I'm not the world's best dancer, so if this is some way to embarrass me … you're gonna pay. And third—you're starting to freak me out a little bit."

He glided in his socks across the carpet of the living room, slowly gathering me in his arms. Now I knew why he'd pushed the coffee table out of the way.

He didn't answer; he just drew me close, while his right hand slowly dropped down to my waist. The other hand of mine, he kept wrapped in his large, warm, left hand. The only light in the room was the light that came from the lamps on the side tables surrounding the huge couch … the sun having almost disappeared beneath the buildings surrounding his apartment. I suddenly remembered that Wilson and Chase would be showing up soon; glancing over Eric's shoulder at the clock on the wall, I could see that it was a couple of minutes past six.

The next moment, the beginning strains of a song came from the stereo speakers, filling the living room and surrounding us with a rich, deep sound … one that could only come from a high-end, expensive system.

We obviously weren't in _my_ apartment, I ruefully thought to myself, thinking of the pitiful stereo at my place … before I'd finally identified the song Eric had chosen for us to dance to.

As recognition flooded through me, I quickly looked up into his eyes … a small smile on his lips. He'd remembered.

Somehow, _he'd remembered._

I was immediately taken back in time, a few months ago … when Eric and I were working late in the lab at the hospital. We were running batteries of tests on a patient's blood and other samples; trying to isolate the disease we all suspected he had. It was an unwritten policy that there shouldn't be a radio in the labs; they were places of science and concentration; not places to enjoy music in. But, as so happens with our department—the rules just didn't seem to apply to us. Whenever we'd find ourselves stuck in there—usually overnight, running tests House had demanded (just before heading home at a decent hour, himself), we'd move his stereo from the office to the lab, as a way of keeping our focus (and awake) while running the tests we needed.

The particular time I was thinking of, somehow Chase had gotten out of helping, and so it was left to Eric and I. We'd silently agreed to tune the radio to something we could both agree on; a station that played a pretty good mix of music, typically from the past twenty years or so. I was leaning over a microscope, studying some slides while Eric worked the computer … when one of my favorite songs came on: "For The First Time," by Kenny Loggins. I immediately started humming along, even swaying a little bit (according to Eric, later) … enjoying the memories and feelings that particular song always put me in.

Yes, it's a sappy song about love. And, yes, Eric started to reach for the radio knob, when a sudden glare from me froze him in his tracks. Rolling his eyes, he loudly sighed … returning to studying the computer monitor; leaving me to my slides, and enjoying the song.

It was also, I reminded myself, the first time one of my glares actually _worked_ on Eric--a fact which made me ridiculously pleased at the time, as I remembered.

The song so moved me, I even started singing it—very, very softly, mind you, in case Eric had any more thoughts of changing the station—while it played. He didn't tease me, or make any comment at all, about it that night.

No, he saved all of that for the next few days, torturing and teasing me unmercifully …AFTER having told anyone who'd listen about it!

I'd just about decided on the best way to murder him and dispose of his body, when a new case finally drew everyone's attention away from me.

I knew, though, that I'd revealed some things about myself to Eric with my obvious enjoyment of that—_this_ song … the one he was now playing, for us to dance to. I snapped back to the present; still looking up into his face, while I'd been on my little mental trip to the past.

As Kenny's voice started singing through the speakers, Eric drew me even closer … pulling me against him as we started a very, very slow dance. As I'd mentioned, I wasn't the world's greatest dancer—having stepped on more than my share of toes over the years … including Eric's, at his last birthday party—but since this was a slow dance to a slow song … I just let him guide and lead … curious about why he'd picked _this_ particular song to play—and where he'd gotten it from--since I didn't think Eric Foreman would be at the top of anyone's list of African American fans of the music of Kenny Loggins.

And then … I suddenly remembered the lyrics of the song … and I slowly began to understand.

He was watching me closely … looking for the moment I'd discover his reason … and now he smiled, gazing deeply in my eyes. My breath caught; the intensity of his gaze was so powerful, it drew all other thoughts I was having away from the front of my brain … leaving only what I saw in his eyes.

I slowly smiled up at him; hearing, and understanding everything I needed to … at that moment.

_Are those your eyes, is that your smile?_

_I've been looking at you forever_

_But I never saw you before_

_Are these your hands, holdin' mine …_

_Now I wonder how I could have been so blind …_

I knew Eric was talking to me through the song … continuing our conversation from his bedroom. I let the words, and their meaning for us, flow over me … still looking into his eyes as we slowly moved …

_For the first time, I am looking in your eyes,_

_For the first time, I'm seeing who you are_

_I can't believe how much I see_

_When you're looking back at me_

_Now I understand why love is …_

_Love is, for the first time …_

There was a warmth and power in his eyes that reached out, latching onto me … holding me tight. I knew, ever since he'd woken up in the hospital … we were really, finally, seeing each other for the first time. And, we were seeing each other in the other person's eyes as well. _That_ was what was drawing us together; letting us move from Foreman and Cameron … to Eric and Alison.

_Can this be real, can this be true?_

_Am I the person I was this morning …_

_And, are you the same you?_

_It's all so strange, how can it be_

_All along, this love was right in front of me_

I remembered when he'd told me that he'd felt "different" since waking from the coma; and even though I hadn't been through the physiological stresses he'd experienced, I felt "different" myself. I'd had a lot of time to think, sitting by his bed; thinking of him, of us … wondering at the new paths my thoughts and feelings were taking me. Strange, yes … for both of us, to be sure—but not enough to cloud our vision.

_For the first time, I am looking in your eyes,_

_For the first time, I'm seeing who you are_

_I can't believe how much I see_

_When you're looking back at me_

_Now I understand why love is …_

_Love is, for the first time …_

I wonder if Eric realizes what the lyrics are really saying. I think he does; whenever the word "love" is sung, his eyes don't find other things to look at. He's been totally focused on my face, ever since we started dancing … letting me see everything—with no shades, or covers on his inner emotions.

I hope he's seeing the same things in my eyes.

He raises his left hand, holding my right …up to the space above his heart. I release his fingers, spreading them over that spot—feeling his heartbeat underneath. Finally, we break eye contact as I lay my head on his chest, next to my hand … while his chin rests near the top of my head. Swaying as we slowly move our feet, we're not traveling far in distance; still, we're flying together … like the kids in Peter Pan.

My mouth curls in a grin, as I imagine Eric in a green outfit, with funny-looking slippers on his feet, and pointy ears … flying through the air like a bird. I think I'll wait a long time before I tell him about _that_ particular image.

_Such a long time ago …_

_I'd given up on findin' this emotion … ever again_

_But you live with me now_

_Yes, I've found you, somehow_

_And I've never been so sure …_

I knew that after my husband passed away, and I'd had a proper chance to grieve … I'd been searching, looking for some kind of replay of the good, loving emotions I'd shared with him. I'd thought that I fond them again in a fortyish misogynist … or in a foolish, irresponsible drug-induced sexual escapade with one of my co-workers … but I was wrong.

And Eric …

He was as lonely as the rest of us were … as people who work in medicine seem to get, faster than most others for some reason … still, he'd become as good, if not better, than any of us at hiding it; sublimating it to a corner of his heart he rarely seemed to visit himself …

I often wondered why he didn't seem to date much; there wasn't any reason he wouldn't have lots of opportunities, given the kind of person he is. It was Chase who seemed to have the most active social life among all of us.

Eric and I had decided one day during lunch that it just _had_ to be that Aussie accent. Eric proceeded to make me roll with laughter as he tried to duplicate it himself … spending the rest of the afternoon speaking with an accent very close to Chase's—even while Chase was present. He got pretty good at it, too … but the sight of him discussing a diagnosis with Cuddy using the accent—with her starting at him strangely all the while—was a memory that always made me laugh.

At any rate, that evening … Eric went home, alone, to his place … as I did, to mine.

Sighing, I drew him tighter against me; feeling his arms encircle me, holding me closer to him.

_And for the first time, I am looking in your eyes_

_For the first time, I'm seein' who you are_

_I can't believe how much I see_

_When you're looking back at me_

_Now I understand why love is …_

_Love is … for the first time._

As the last strains of the music floated away, I looked up into his face. We kept moving, our bodies having found a rhythm on their own while our thoughts danced on _their _own; at a different rhythm than our bodies.

I studied his expression as the room grew silent again … a slow smile appearing on my lips.

"You remembered the song; and that it was one I like … _how_ did you remember it? It was quite a while back, so late at night…" I began, faltering at the end as he met my slightly puzzled look with a confident one.

We were standing close, holding each other. He searched my face with his eyes … our shared gazes drawing us together like gravity. He brushed some loose strands of hair away from my cheek.

"I remembered the way you looked when it was playing on the radio, and how your whole demeanor changed afterward. You had more energy after that point than I did for the rest of that night. You sang along with it, too—something I'd never heard you do before. You have a great voice, Alison … you should sing more."

I tilted my head … quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Seriously? You like my singing, Eric? 'Cause, judging by the amount of teasing you gave me the next few days afterward, it would be easy to imagine otherwise…"

He chuckled, grinning down at me.

"'now, girl … you _know_ I just can't resist teasing you sometimes! It's almost a—reflex action. But seriously—I _do _love your voice. Why don't you sing more?"

I shrugged in his arms.

"No one's ever said what you just did to me; I guess I've just always figured my voice wasn't something to inflict on an unsuspecting public," I told him in a sassy, sarcastic voice. "Thank you, sweetie."

"You're welcome. And--I promise; I'll never tease you about your singing again."

"Wow! You must **really** like it, then … if you're willingly giving up opportunities to tease me over it!"

"Sure do. Now, you need to be quiet …"

"And why is that—do you hear the guys coming?" I looked away from him, towards the front door of the apartment.

"No, that's not it."

He brought my chin back to his face, slowly lowering his mouth onto mine.

Any thought of a response was swallowed up in the thrill of his kiss. I loudly moaned as he softly drew my lower lip between his, gently sucking. My arms found their way around his neck; pulling him even closer to me. I didn't want to use any energy standing on my toes; I wanted to give everything to our kiss.

Eric drew a breath from me with a small moan of his own. Our kiss had passed a lot of the usual preliminaries; we'd deepened it almost from the start, letting ourselves float away in our passion.

His warm hands started rubbing my back, sliding my shirt up a little so that he could touch me skin to skin. I shivered at his touch; the things he does to my body could fill several romance novels on their own.

I don't know how long we stood there, practically devouring each other with our lips … until we were startled by loud knocks at the front door.

"Hey, Foreman, Cameron … put some clothes on and come let us in!" came Chase's muffled voice through the door. We heard snickering that sounded a lot like Wilson at the same time, and we gave our unseen audience a double-roll of the eyes.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from him … flustered, running my fingers through my hair as I moved towards the door. I heard Eric's heavy breathing behind me, knowing exactly how and what he was feeling at that moment.

Quickly opening the door with one hand, while using the other to rearrange my hair, I saw the guys standing on the stoop; Wilson with a couple of brown paper bags in his arms, and Chase with three pizza boxes in his.

I saw them take in my disheveled appearance, glancing at each other before either spoke.

"Hi! Um, we're not … interrupting anything, are we, Cameron?" Chase hesitatingly asked. Wilson, to his credit, stayed quiet.

"Alison—send whoever it is away, and come back to bed!" Eric hollered from the apartment. I could feel my eyes grow wide for a moment, not wanting to meet either Wilson's or Chase's eyes—but not wanting Eric to get away with his shenanigans, either. So, I decided to match him quip for quip. Shaking my head in apparent exasperation, I replied in a worn, put-upon voice.

"After _five _straight hours of sex, you still want _more_? What did I do to you with that biopsy?" I hollered back in reply. There was an explosion of laughter from behind us, as Eric appeared at the door. I winked at him, before turning back to look at Wilson and Chase with a saucy grin on my face.

"Hi, guys—we were just joking around. Thanks for coming—get in here, before my neighbors call the cops." Eric and I received hugs from both men as we moved pizza boxes and bags around between us in order to free up arms. I closed the door, making sure it was locked. Eric led them into the kitchen, where the pizza boxes were opened, beer was taken out of the bags, and dishes were pulled from the cabinets.

I crossed my arms as I approached the kitchen, shaking my head as I watched three males of the species start three different conversations as they prepared to gorge themselves on the pizza. I carefully sniffed the air, trying to detect the scent of anchovies—in case Chase decided he didn't want to live past tonight.

Not detecting any, I decided to have a little fun with my coworker anyway.

"I smell anchovies, _Robert _… I thought we'd already talked about this." I used my lowest, most threatening voice—as much as a girl as small and unthreatening as_ I_ looked, could manage. It had the desired effect; all movement in the kitchen stopped. Chase got a look of fear on his face; Wilson looked at Eric, puzzled … and then they all turned to look at me. Chase coughed a few times, before answering me in a protesting voice.

"Cameron, I _swear_—we didn't get anchovies on any of these pizzas; right, Wilson?" He nodded.

"Just one meat lovers, one veggie, and one pepperoni, Cameron—and the beer, of course." Wilson had the beginnings of a gleam in his eye, telling me he'd figured out my little game. Eric, of course, knew right away what I was up to.

I sighed to myself; fooling him was going to be next to impossible from now on. I narrowed my eyes, turning back to Chase. The look on his face was priceless.

"Then why, _Robert,_ do I still smell anchovies?" I started slowly walking closer to him … and he actually took a couple of steps back. Eric held his hand over his mouth; trying not to laugh, while Wilson was trying to look anywhere except in Chase's direction.

"I don't know, Cameron. I haven't eaten anything with anchovies in a few days—honest!" I'd moved right up next to him, invading his personal space as I gave him an "evil" stare. The poor guy—he looked like he was about to bolt the apartment. I couldn't stand it anymore; I decided to give him a break. Truth was, I'd missed him. We hadn't seen much of each other the past few weeks, since I'd been practically spending all of my time with Eric.

Uncrossing my arms, I put a hand on one of his. "Must be my imagination, then … I guess I've just missed seeing you lately." I gave him a big smile, and he returned it … relief and understanding on his face. Eric and Wilson were laughing their heads off by then, as Chase and I joined them.

Chase looked over at Eric. "You been giving her 'scary' lessons again, Foreman?" Eric looked at me, and shook his head.

"Trust me, man …she doesn't need any!" I threw a kiss his way, with a sardonic grin added in for good measure.

"Wait a minute—there's one more thing to settle!" Eric cried out, going over to the bags that still held the beer. "How much of that Fosters swill did he talk you into, Wilson?" Eric's nose was buried in the bag, and I burst out laughing at the sight of his rustling around in them.

"It's _not_ swill, Foreman—you Yanks just don't have a decent beer palate—" Chase began.

"One six-pack; the smallest cans, as ordered," Wilson said, at the same time. Chase shook his head.

"You people are lucky I like hanging out with you…" The three of us laughed.

I headed to the sink to get napkins. "Eric, sweetie, can you get me a couple of pieces of the veggie on a plate, please?" He nodded, as Wilson and Chase exchanged a glance.

"Yes, I did just call him 'sweetie,' guys-- got a problem with it?" I asked, my back still turned to them from where I was standing.

"Um… no, ma'am…" Chase started, as I whirled on him.

"Keep your 'ma'am's' to yourself, mister … my name is Alison." I handed him some napkins, softening the tone of my voice with a little smile. I was being a little too rough on the guy. He had, after all, helped keep me stoked with coffee in the hospital.

"Not 'honeybunch,' or 'sweetie-kins,' or 'apple dumpling,' or …?" Wilson asked, in that dry, sarcastic-tinged voice he used … glancing between Eric and me as he spoke.

"'_Apple dumpling'_???" Eric said in an incredulous voice, the look of forced terror on his face almost making me laugh.

"'_Sweetie-kins'_???" I added … my voice matching Eric's in every way as we traded horrified looks.

"Where the hell did you get those from?" Eric asked him, while I fought my sudden desire to smack the smirk that had found its' way onto Wilson's face clean off.

Wilson glanced at me, cleared his voice, and then answered … sipping on a beer that Chase handed him.

"Those _are_ traditional 'pet names' for _couples--_ I thought they sounded appropriate, given your new … situation …"

I looked at Eric, shaking my head.

"No wonder the guy can't keep a woman," I told him … speaking as if we were the only people in the room. Chase chuckled.

"Hey!" Wilson protested, as Eric sent a blinding smile my way. I returned it, taking pride in the fact that I was able to stay steady on my feet; the last time I'd seen _that_ smile was a few minutes ago … right before the guys arrived.

When we weren't doing much talking at all.

"Let's get out of the kitchen, everybody … my place is slightly bigger than this, you know!" As he spoke, Eric's glance told me he was thinking about the same thing I was. I handed him an iced tea I'd poured for him from the fridge, at the same time he handed me one of the beers.

"One--of _two_," he said … his emphasis on the last word not missed by me.

"Whatever you say, my lord," I told him, grinning.

"Thanks for the tea, your Grace," he replied with one of his crooked grins that I loved so much. I nodded; unable for the moment to speak.

Wilson and Chase were both watching and listening as they preceded us into the living room; Wilson heading for Eric's recliner, while Chase sat at one end of the huge couch ...leaving the rest of it for me and Eric. I followed him to the empty spot, settling myself next to him after he sat down … pulling my legs underneath me as I did.

"So, Eric … how do you feel?" Wilson asked, swallowing a bite of pizza.

"Pretty good, all things considered," he answered. "I'm still a little tired most of the time, and I've stayed away from doing any driving (hearing that, Wilson nodded in approval); I don't have any more pain, and I've been eating almost normally." I nodded. Eric continued.

"Alison watches me like a hawk, of course—no chance of me abusing myself, or doing something counter to my recovery, with her here." He laughed, and I elbowed him in the ribs while swallowing a piece of veggie pizza myself.

"That was a good idea of Cuddy's—sending her home with you," Chase started, as we all turned to him. "I'm sure Foreman's making _you_ nap and sleep as much as he can, too--given that I don't think you got 24 good hours of sleep—without assistance, that is--the past three weeks."

"That's all true," I said, "and that also brings up something I want to ask, while you guys are here. Exactly _how_ many times did you sedate me, in order to get me to rest?" I looked back and forth between the two of them. Wilson didn't answer; he just held up two fingers; Chase followed with three fingers.

"I think Cuddy got you at least twice, that I know of…" Chase added, in a wary voice. Both of them looked ready to drop everything and bolt for the door.

"_Seven_ times???" I squeaked. "What about House?"

"He didn't bother," Chase continued. "Once he saw what we were doing, he left you alone. You would think he'd be in on it, too; but he just made sure we weren't overdoing it. I guess if anyone knows about medicating doctors …" he shrugged.

I shook my head. "I don't remember any of that …" I was amazed at how unaware I must've gotten, while waiting for Eric to wake up.

"You _should_ have slept, Alison; instead, you had 'third-rate' doctors like these two drugging you left and right," Eric told me, a chastising yet teasing note in his voice.

"Hey—I worked hard to get where I am as a 'second-rate' doctor--thank you very much!" Wilson protested, polishing off another meat-lovers slice of pizza. We all laughed.

"I'm surprised you haven't been hibernating since Cuddy sent you home," Chase said.

"Eric's been keeping me busy …" I began … only to be stopped by hoots and hollers from Chase and Wilson. I shook my head, smiling at their childishness. It was good to be around them again.

"Idiots," I murmured, fondly grinning at their antics. Eric was suitably quiet; maybe my training was taking hold, after all. Wilson spoke up again.

"You did sleep in the hospital; at least a little, on the couch in my office … as well as in the doctors' lounge. Cuddy wanted to move the patient next to Eric's room somewhere else; so that we could put you there, instead--but their condition prevented it. The hospital's been pretty full the past couple of months. She even thought about sending you to rest at her house, but we figured you'd just sneak back from there, too." I nodded.

"I probably would have. So, what did you 'quacks' give me?"

"Nothing serious … just a sleep aid, that's all. We wanted to be able to bring you out of it, in case something … changed … at the hospital," Chase carefully answered.

Eric, who'd really been quiet through all of this, finally spoke. "I'm glad you guys were trying to take care of her. She has a problem with looking out for herself, I've noticed. Thanks, you two."

Wilson waved Eric's comments away. "After the anti-parasitics started having a positive effect on you, Foreman, all we had to do was make sure she didn't get too off-track. She was determined to stay as close to you as she could; and, after a while, we just tried to figure out the best way to deal with it. Your dad was as concerned about her as we were; a couple of the cups of coffee we 'doctored,' came to her via him. Don't be mad at him, Cameron—Cuddy convinced him it was the thing to do." Wilson said.

"I'm not mad at anyone, Wilson," I told him. "I just wish I could remember most of it, that's all. I've never … done anything like that before. By the way, if I didn't say it before—thank you, for keeping an eye on me. What little I remember was waking up a couple of times in your office, Wilson; not knowing how I got there, or how long I'd been there. A little disconcerting; to say the least."

"Not a problem," he told me. "You're so tiny, it was nothing at all for either Chase, or me, to carry you. We figured if we moved you on a gurney or something like that, you would have been embarrassed; once you'd heard about it. So, we just waited until nighttime, when the corridors and elevators were empty … before moving you."

"You know me too well," I chuckled.

"You should _really_ thank Cuddy, though; she was the one who saw how … involved you were, and wouldn't let anyone shrug it off. House told us to just drive you to your place, take your car keys, money, and phones … and leave you there. Guess he didn't want to be bothered with having to deal with you. She shot that down right away. You were at the hospital as much as you were, because of her; she—and the nurses assigned to Foreman--were the first ones to notice that he seemed to do better, when you were close to him. His vitals were stronger, and he seemed to rest easier in your presence—whether you were awake at the time, or not. Your father saw that, too, Foreman. So, she declared you a 'part of the treatment;' and let you stay. The rest was just your friends not letting you go without _too_ much sleep, so that you'd end up in a bed next to Foreman." Chase told us, finishing off his Fosters.

We were all quiet for a while, as Chase went back to the kitchen, replacing beers and drinks for everyone.

"Thanks again, guys," I whispered, as soon as he was settled back on the couch. To hear how your friends all worked together for both our sakes … humbled both Eric and I.

We were lucky people.

"Yeah; thanks." Eric added. They nodded, both of them giving us smiles. "It's nothing either of you wouldn't have done for us," Wilson said.

We were all quiet for a couple of minutes.

"So—what's been happening at the sweat shop, since we've been gone?" Eric asked. "Has House imploded yet from not having minions to do his bidding? What's going on in the NICU, Chase?"

Chase and Wilson glanced at each other, hesitating.

"What?" Eric and I both asked them, in unison. They let out nervous laughs.

"Um … we're under direct orders **not** to talk 'shop' with you—the fear is that you won't rest and recover, if you thought too much about work. Cuddy's exact words were, and I quote: 'For once, I'm paying them to sit on their asses and relax; and they'd better be doing _exactly _that--nothing else!' I think you should do as she says." Chase said.

Eric glanced at me. I had a feeling, from his look … that his "so-called" sense of humor was about to make an appearance.

"Well; at least she didn't mention anything about the orgies; I guess we can go ahead with them, then?"

We all laughed … Chase nearly spitting out a swallow of his swill Aussie beer.

"By all means," I airily waved my hand in the air, "let the orgies commence!"

We all laughed … refilling our plates with more pizza.

"So… what have you guys been up to? I tried calling you at your place a couple of times, Cameron … figuring you'd be there, and that you probably just weren't answering your cell," Wilson said, watching me.

Eric spoke up before I could answer. "She's staying with me this week; we decided that would work best. Once she saw my couch and flatscreen TV; there was no getting rid of her." Without even looking in his direction, I reached up and smacked him on the back of his head.

"_That's_ been happening quite a bit lately, too …" he ruefully added, rubbing the spot where I'd hit him, as both Wilson and Chase chuckled. I glared at him, before turning back to our guests.

"Even during the few times Eric _hasn't_ been a smartass, we've just been taking it easy. He slept a lot yesterday; and this morning, we actually got outside and took a nice walk, at the nature preserve on the other side of town. It was so pretty there—oh! we were _ten feet_ away from a _deer!_" My excitement had smiles appearing on all three of their faces. "It was so cool! I'd never been _that_ close to a deer before! We don't get many chances to see them in Chicago; believe it or not."

"That probably doesn't impress Chase all that much; growing up with kangaroos as he no doubt did," Eric teased.

Chase rolled his eyes. "I'll have you all know; I didn't even _see _a live kangaroo until I was fourteen!"

"Hmm …must have been distracted all that time, dodging those boomerangs …" Wilson quickly added, causing all of us, except Chase—who just grimaced—to laugh.

"Bloody Yanks…" he murmured, just under his breath.

"Actually … if you two don't mind, I have a question of my own," Wilson started. "It's … well, personal; so if you don't want to answer, that's all right…" he continued; raising his eyebrows questioningly at Eric and me.

We both trusted Wilson; he's a good man as well as an excellent doctor; and, anyway … we had a feeling what was coming.

"Shoot," Eric answered for both of us. I nodded in agreement.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Okay; a short month ago, you two were mortal enemies; you could barely be in the same room, let alone work together. And now … there's a totally different 'vibe' from you two. Alison, I don't think I've seen you more than five feet away from Eric since you performed the biopsy. Every trace of 'bad blood' seems to be gone. I'm guessing you've … forgiven him," he finished; studying us over the lip of his can of beer.

I sighed, returning his gaze. "Yes, Wilson; I have forgiven him. We've spent a lot of time together, as you've seen … and we've had a chance to do a lot of talking. All I can tell you is that we've … started over. We've repaired our friendship …" I paused at that point; not quite sure how to continue.

Eric picked up the thread of my thoughts from there.

"…and we've discovered that we share … much more than just a friendship. So; we're just taking things one step at a time … and seeing how things go. Some of what happened before was because of … too much pressure, in a lot of different areas. We've decided to avoid that as much as possible _this_ time, and to try and see what a 'normal' relationship feels like."

Chase started speaking. "That might be easier said than done—between the hospital, House, and the rest of the world …" he shrugged, looking at us with a sympathetic smile.

"We know, Chase…" I told him. "We'll always be professionals at work; that will never change again." I felt Eric's nod of agreement. "As far as House is concerned, let me just say something you need to hear."

I sat up a little … Eric's arm still around me; having been there since we sat down. I looked both Wilson and Chase in the eye before continuing.

"I know everyone was aware I had a 'thing' for House; that's now completely over with, as far as I'm concerned. It was … a foolish little obsession of mine, that wasn't healthy—for me, or for him. Not to mention our professional relationship. So … I feel like I need to say it out loud; whatever else happens, you won't see me 'pining' for House any more. That's not to say I don't still respect him as a doctor; I do. He's excellent, and I've learned a lot from him. Mostly good things; some, not so good. He and I will be fine, though—you won't have to walk on eggshells around us. But the other—that's _over._"

I paused to catch my breath; I'd started breathing heavily for some reason, and I felt Eric's hand on my back … comforting and supporting me. I wasn't finished, though.

"As for the 'world'; well, it'll just have to deal. We've already had a taste of what we'll probably face, already."

I sat back against Eric's side once again, and began telling them about what happened to us earlier in the day at Olive Garden … and about Cheryl; Eric sharing in the telling of the story.

When we were done, they were dumbfounded … their mouths hanging open in shock.

"She was fired?--good!" was the first thing Chase said.

"I'm glad the manager dealt with it so quickly; he sounds like a good guy," Wilson said … shaking his head before pulling a long draw from his beer.

"He was; you should have seen the look on his face. I think he was so embarrassed at her behavior; he wouldn't have done anything else. He was very respectful and courteous; we would have walked out of there, if he hadn't been."

I agreed with Eric.

"And the other waitress—Mindy—was such a doll; I think she more than made up for the way Cheryl treated us."

"_Plus_—we got a free pie as we were leaving!" Eric added. I turned in his arm, giving him an incredulous look; while the other two just chuckled.

_Typical_ male response.

"_That's_ what you remember most about that experience—_the free pie_, hon?" I asked him, shaking my head; amused, while trying to glare at him … and failing miserably.

"It's probably a very good-tasting pie, love," he told me with as straight a face as he could muster. I could swear he was going to add a wink to his little comment; in which case, I had a nice head-slap ready and waiting for him.

He leaned his head as far out of my reach as he could, accusing me with his expression. "I _know_ that look; you're not going to slap me on the head, are you—honey?"

"Don't _'honey'_ me, you, you …" I just groaned; shaking my head in resignation, before settling back down against him again, reaching for my beer.

"Well," Wilson began, "good pie or no—" and at that, he tilted his can in Eric's direction, who returned it with a nod and a tilt of his own iced tea, "I've never seen a relationship flip so completely before—except maybe on one of House's soaps. I think it's great; and I'm not just saying that because you have a huge flat screen TV in your place, that would be perfect for watching _many_ movies and sporting events," he added, eyebrows raised … speaking in that uniquely 'Wilsonian' ironic--sarcastic voice of his. Eric laughed.

"My TV es su TV," he told him. Wilson beamed.

"Gracias, senor!" he replied, nodding. I couldn't stand it.

"Um … _uno momento, por favor,_" I told them. "If you two—or three—think you're going to spend _all_ your free time over here, glued to the idiot box … you're sadly mistaken!" I felt Eric shaking his head.

"_See_ what I mean, guys? _Nag, nag, nag_ ... OUCH! Hey—watch it, girl! I'm still a little tender back there, you know!"

I'd reached up in a blind swing, catching the back of his head … apparently, near his biopsy scar.

"Oh, _poor baby_—let me kiss it and make it feel better!" I changed position, taking his head in my hands … sensing Wilson and Chase's full attention on us … and then proceeded to give Eric a raspberry; right on the side of his head.

"Argghh; gross!" he exclaimed; rubbing the spot where my lips had been … as I rolled beside him, laughing. He tried to retaliate by tickling me; but by then, I'd scooted over to Chase's side of the huge couch, before he could reach me. Chase held up both arms, like a referee; and then made the sign for a time-out.

"Why don't you two kids put the hi-jinks on hold for a while, and let's watch something instead on this cool TV that's not being used!" he declared.

Wilson added his two cents, with one word. "Amen."

I looked over at Eric, and we both shrugged. I went back to his side, and while he was busy wrapping his arm around me again … I snagged the remote from the coffee table.

"Alisonnnn…" he began, but I held up a hand.

"It's my turn, sweetie," I told him.

"Your 'turn'? We haven't even turned it on since we got home!" he protested.

Our "argument" was halted by Wilson--who'd reached over to snatch the remote from me while I was distracted, and who then found the power button, and began scanning the channels. Eric apparently had a cable connection; there were lots of choices. The guys grew silent as the channels flashed by, and I rolled my eyes.

"_Please_—settle on something, before I eat that entire pie in front of you three!" I threatened. Wilson found a "Law and Order" repeat that was just starting; we silently agreed on his choice, and settled down to watch.

**END OF CHAPTER TEN**


	11. Chapter 11

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 11 – Alison's Family"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None

**Author's Note:** This is a "legend" for Alison's family that I use to write this story against. The details are my own; entirely fictionalized, and not based on anything from the TV show. This will help you make sense of upcoming chapters.

**PERSONAL BACKGROUND LEGEND:** **Dr. Alison Cameron**

For the purposes of "Post Euphoria"

**AGE:** 31

**BIRTH MONTH, DAY:** March 21st (Aries)

**BIRTHPLACE:** Chicago, IL

**FATHER:** **Edgar Cameron; **aged 61, former CEO of multinational **financial services firm Cameron & Associates;** retired; lives in Naperville, IL. Well-traveled, knows several languages, including French (a skill he enjoys practicing with Eric; who, to Alison's surprise, speaks French fairly well himself). Taciturn, tough, expects a lot from everyone in the family; he makes it clear than anyone who messes with his family gets messes with back. Very, very protective of Alison; who he is very proud of. They have always been extremely close, and his misses her company a lot. Isn't very emotional, but shows his emotions the most around his wife, and Alison. Has a reputation in business of being cutthroat and hard to best in deals. Very smart, smarter than he lets on to people. Knows how to lead, and to recognize skills and abilities in others. To Alison's great shock, he actually takes to Eric faster and easier than she thought he would. His wife is more cautious around Eric; not having much contact with people of different races except when she was a schoolteacher.

**MOTHER:** **Margaret Davies Cameron;** aged 58, former schoolteacher in Naperville school district; semi-retired. Active in community issues. Very liberal views and politics; as opposed to her husband, who is conservative by nature. Friendly, open, but not much of a "second chances" type of a person. Expects Eric to fail Alison sooner or later. Strongly disapproved of Alison's marriage to her college friend six months before he died; basically turned the rest of the family (except for Edgar) against the relationship, and against him … causing lots of strains between her and Alison. She believes she was only doing what she thought was right, trying to "save Alison from a lot of unnecessary pain," but instead drove a wedge between them … that Eric, of all people, is eventually instrumental in helping them get past.

**BROTHER:** **Frank Cameron;** aged 35; former intel officer, U.S. Navy; retired from Navy as a Lt. Commander to start his own security consulting business; married to **Dana Cameron, 'nee Culverson;** two kids, **Bradley "Brad" Cameron,14,** and **Elizabeth "Lizzy" Cameron, 13.** Frank enjoys working on engines in his spare time, and is known as a great dancer. His wife, Dana, is a very balanced, well-adjusted person, having gotten her Doctorate in Psychology while practically raising two kids on her own while her husband served in the Navy. She has a part-time consulting practice; determined to be there for her kids while they grow up, she resists going full-time with psychology until they're in college. Frank, though, is no slouch in the husband or father departments … being much-loved in both roles, roles he excels in. Lizzy is very much a "Daddy's" girl, like Alison is with her dad. Frank especially likes to dance with Alison, he says, because "she's the only one crazy enough to keep up with my crazy steps." Frank, Dana, and their kids live in Baltimore, MD, where Frank's business is based (he has lots of defense contacts).

**SISTER:** **Cheryl "C2" Cameron; **aged 28; never married, interior designer, lives alone and works in NYC. Alison always calls her "C2", a nickname from childhood. Everyone else in the family calls her "Cissy," for some unknown reason. Loves fashion, decorating, and living as rich a life as she can manage. Not really interested in settling down, even though she has no problems getting dates. Goes through relationships like "some people go through a fire," Alison remarks to Eric. An exceptional singer with a powerful voice, she likes to show off her voice to new people whenever she gets the chance. Most people, though, prefers Alison's singing voice, which isn't nearly as powerful … but is much more skilled, clear, and nuanced. Alison also has a larger range than her sister, which drives "Cissy" nuts – and always has. She makes the least money of all the kids (not much more than Alison does), but spends the most of everyone in the family … struggling with bills sometimes. It's a source of contention between her and Alison, the person she most goes to when she needs money. Kept this fact from her family, but she was much closer to the towers in NYC during 9/11 than they realize; she was afraid her father would make her move out of the city that she loves so much, if they found out. Deeply affected by the tragedy, she started to mature and 'grow up" a little in the aftermath, serving firefighters food at different aid places while her office reorganized. Only Frank knows about that, and he discovered it accidentally through a background check he ran on one of her friends, a NYC firefighter who was trying to get work at a defense contractor (interesting side story).

Based largely on earnings of Cameron & Associates, family has always been fairly well-off. Mostly close-knit, very protective of each other & their friends, kinda rambunctious when they are all together. All of them were, or are, physically active, and the family thus far has had few medical problems … although Lizzy flirts with bulimia and is diabetic.

Alison is closer to Frank than she is to her younger sister, having competed with her for much of her life. The two sisters are very different personalities, with their brother usually playing the role of "balancer/peacekeeper." He is very level-headed, serious, extremely intelligent, and is definitely the most reserved in the family. There is some hint that there is strain between father and son over son's refusal to join father in the family firm after graduation from college. Alison worked at the firm for a few summers, both in high school (Naperville High) and in college (Northwestern), but always knew she wanted to be a doctor from an early age. Excelled in science and math courses, was also very popular in high school, followed in that tradition by her younger sister, who was always determined to do "better" than Alison in achievements and in dating. Alison loves her niece and nephew very much, and is extremely close to both of them; who both call her "Aunt Dr."


	12. Chapter 12

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 12 – Eric's Family"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None

**Author's Note:** This is a "legend" for Eric's family that I use to write this story against. The details are my own; entirely fictionalized, and not based on anything from the TV show. This will help you make sense of upcoming chapters.

**PERSONAL BACKGROUND LEGEND:** **Dr. Eric Foreman**

For the purposes of "Post Euphoria"

**AGE:** 32

**BIRTH MONTH, DAY:** October 10th (Libra)

**BIRTHPLACE:** Cleveland, OH

**FATHER:** **Rodney Foreman; **aged 62; former civil servant—worked for (and later, led) the security force at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History; lives in Cleveland, OH with Eric's mother. Retired, and living on a pension. Very religious; coming from a strict Baptist background, he tried to impart his views on his two sons; Eric, and Marcus, 25 (seven years' Eric's junior). Eric seemed to accept his father's views and beliefs, but once he started attending Columbia, he drifted away from them. Marcus, the rebellious son, was constantly in trouble (even drawing Eric into things during their earlier life), and always rejecting his family's attempts to instill good values in him. The archetypical "bad seed," he caused constant trouble for the rest of the family, moving from petty theft to more and more serious crimes until finally being put in prison for armed robbery. Rodney never forgave himself for how things turned out for his younger son, assuming the blame and fault was his. Rodney Foreman has always been a man big on personal responsibility; and it was partly from his own testimony that his son was sent to prison—refusing to lie to provide his son with an alibi that would have kept him out of prison, and deepening the gulf that had always been between them, and turning Marcus to hating his father. Ironically, Rodney seemed to prefer his youngest son over the older Eric as they grew up; Eric has always been very close to his mother, while resenting the attention his father seemed to give his little brother over him. That has caused some distance between he and his father through the years; even though the two men knew the other loved him. Their relationship improved as Rodney's wife Margaret (always called "Margie" by Rodney) started suffering from what eventually turned into Alzheimer's disease. Taking care of her repaired a lot of damage in the relationship, and it was a big reason why Eric decided to become a doctor—and specialize in neurology. Quiet, reserved, but with a big heart and a fundamentally emotional nature under a thick skin, he is hard to get to know, but as his friends will tell you: once you're friends with Rodney Foreman, you're friends forever. He is very loyal to his friends and family, but is open with people close to the family as well … shown in the eventual close relationship he develops with Alison. Served four years in the Army, in Korea; earning a Purple Heart. Has never told his family how he earned it, and rarely speaks about his time in Korea at all. Is very patriotic, and has little use for people who take living in America for granted. A voracious reader, he can hold conversations on an amazing range of topics, which surprises people. Is very curious about science, and life in general, passing on those loves to Eric at an early age. Hates to travel. Is an accomplished card player.

**MOTHER:** **Margaret "Margie" Reeves Foreman;** aged 53, former CPA for one of the biggest accounting forms in the Midwest; retired on medical disability when her Alzheimer's symptoms started appearing. Though not as religious as her husband, she attended and was active in the local Baptist church the family attended, believing that it would help her family. Where her husband seemed to favor Marcus, she developed a close relationship with her oldest son fairly early, teaching him many things. The most open and friendly person in the family, she comes from a large clan herself, giving the Foreman boys lots of cousins, nieces, and nephews. One of those cousins, who lives in California, helped Eric find the seashell on a beach that he would eventually give to Alison as a gift many years later. Very trusting, non-confrontational nature. Struggled mightily with both of her son's involvement in crime, and never really understood the forces that drove them in that direction… although she did blame Rodney's toughness on them for a long time. Tells Alison in a rare moment of clarity that she had come to be afraid of her youngest son, and that she felt shame at that. Her symptoms started appearing about six years ago, as Eric was working his way through Johns Hopkins on a full academic scholarship, and was exacerbated by Marcus being sent to jail for a minimum fifteen year sentence for armed robbery. Loves gardening, animals, and the plight of kids waiting for adoption. Always wanted a daughter, and would have tried to adopt a girl – except, Rodney did not think it was a good idea. He later came to regret that decision, because of what it would have meant to her as she grew older and contracted Alzheimers.

**BROTHER:** **Marcus Foreman;** aged 25; excelled in sports throughout school, and was definitely a "ladies man" growing up and into early adulthood. A smooth talker, friendly and outgoing, always the "life of the party," he was almost always the center of attention … which ran parallel to his desire to always test boundaries, get into trouble, and have as much excitement as possible. While Eric was the studious son, always trying to please his parents … Marcus delighted in shocking people by his behavior, and would do things usually to get a rise out of them. This personality led him towards criminals and the life of the streets, drawing him into drugs, weapons, and constant brushes with the law. He even managed to get Eric involved as well; involving him in petty crimes by working on Eric's desire to always protect his brother. Eventually, Eric saw the pain Marcus was causing his family and friends; afraid he'd drift in the same direction, he drifted away from Marcus, practically cutting off support. Eric visited him once, only once, in prison … before he headed off to Johns Hopkins. They argued, and Eric hasn't seen or spoken to his brother since. Eric even refused to attend a parole hearing that could have reduced Marcus' sentence, claiming that he couldn't get away from his studies. Marcus' promise was seen by everyone who knew him, and his story (and fall) was even in the local papers for a time … causing the family nothing but embarrassment. The relationships between Marcus and Eric, and Marcus with his mother, are almost nonexistent; he keeps in touch only through his father, who insists on visiting him whenever he gets the chance. Most of the time, Marcus refuses to see his father when he comes to see him; other times, they talk, argue, reminisce … all the while, Rodney tries to keep his youngest son's mind on religion for the strength to get through his ordeal.

The family was never well-off or wealthy, but was always well-known in whatever neighborhood they happened to live in … generally respected, although most of that went away once people realized what Marcus was usually involved in. Most people tended not to hold that against the rest of the family, though, and friends of the family are generally in awe at the different paths the two Foreman brothers' lives have taken; not knowing that it had always been a close thing, and could have very well turned out much differently.


	13. Chapter 13

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 13 – Eric"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Spoilers:** None

**Eric**

At this particular moment in time, I can't remember ever feeling this … "domestic."

Alison's head was comfortably nestled on my shoulder, as we sat on my couch watching an old "Law and Order" episode along with Wilson and Chase … who'd come by for a visit bearing pizza and beer.

Was that the only reason I let them in the door? Nah…

First, I thought it was very decent of Wilson to pay for everything we were eating and drinking; even though I was laying off alcohol, until I'd recovered from the parasite that had very nearly killed me.

Not that Alison would let me put any alcohol in my system at this point in my recovery; assuming I was that foolish to begin with.

Second, I knew Alison missed being around the guys. She enjoyed working with them--more than she'd admit to.

Not that I didn't; I liked them well enough, and they were good people … it's just that I'm much more focused on Alison now.

Selfish, I know--but I just can't help it. The time we spend together, is very important to me. Right now, I'm not sure I could handle being at work with her … and not being able to touch and kiss her when I want to. It's going to be a difficult transition to make; harder than I'd thought it would be.

Even now, with her warm, soft body snuggled close to mine … I want to kiss her. The presence of our coworkers—one of whom has an ongoing thing for her—makes me hesitate.

That upsets me.

Ah … to hell with it; I tell myself.

I tighten my arm around her warm body, and then lean down to plant a long kiss on the top of her head. She stirs a little as a small sigh reaches my ears … while one of her hands slips into mine. I love the way she reaches for me; even when she's asleep. It's one of the most sensual things about her. I sense eyes on us; and look up to see Wilson watching from the recliner. He's smiling; and I don't see anything in his eyes except warmth and pleasure, mixed in with what looks like--approval.

I meet his gaze, returning his smile with a grin. My attention shifts back to Alison.

She's drifted back to sleep. I can feel her regular breathing, and I'm sure that if I glance down at her face …her eyes are closed. She'd lost quite a bit of sleep while I was recovering in the hospital; I'm grateful again to Cuddy for sending Alison home at the same time I'm off from work. Being a doctor, you learn very quickly to operate at high levels on not much sleep; but she's shown incredible reserves these past few weeks. I can't believe that the rest of the team had to sedate her in order to get her to rest. From what I've heard, she should have collapsed from lack of sleep long before things got to that point.

I wonder at what kept her going. She told me she was waiting for me to wake up; could that be it?

Was she starting to feel this bond … this new connection of ours … before I'd even regained consciousness?

I mentally shake my head; too tired myself from the day we'd had, to process the thoughts I was having.

We've all been fairly quiet; watching the prosecutors and detectives wrap up yet another New York crime case, while she gradually drifted off in my arms. God, I love how that sounds-- "in my arms". I'm always looking forward to the next time we're touching each other; whether it's arm-in-arm in public, wrapped up in each other's arms here at home … or kissing each other—like we were doing before the guys came by tonight.

This girl can _kiss_; let me tell you. When we were going at it earlier tonight, and she moaned into my mouth … I came pretty close to losing control. She's so amazing; this tough, strong, beautiful woman … with a soft, small, curvy body that fits mine like a glove. I remembered that first morning back home, waking up to find her next to me in bed … her telling me she'd missed me; almost like the dream I'd been having of her.

Of course … in the dream, neither of us had been wearing any clothes; or sleeping much, for that matter.

Sometimes … dreams are so much better than reality.

And other times, I think I'll wake up--really wake up--from all of this; that I'll close my eyes … and when I open them again, I'll be back in the hospital, coming to from the biopsy … seeing a pleased, relieved, but distant look on the face of my doctor. Watching, sad without any reason why … as she examines me quickly; as if she had better things to do, now that I'd regained consciousness.

Then … watching her leave my hospital room without even a backwards glance -- or not even seeing her again for a day or two.

That's the reality--the 'timeline' … that I'm thankful _didn't_ happen.

No—from the moment I woke up … it's been she and I.

Together.

Exciting? Oh, yeah. Not just the physical side of our new relationship, either. It's … this feeling of knowing there's someone there who fills in the holes, the thin parts, of your being. Someone who's so—unconditional in the way she is around you. Someone who you never would have thought would be _that_ person.

Scary? Yes ... especially considering what we experienced today, at lunch.

We never really talked about what happened earlier at the restaurant. There was, I think, an unspoken agreement that we wouldn't want the rest of the day ruined; because of one stupid person.

Still, I need to find out how she truly feels about what happened.

I suspect she'll want to know more about Cheryl's reaction to us--and why she said what she did. I'll try to explain, as much as I can … but I'm not sure that will answer all of her questions.

Sighing, I turn my vision outward from the introspection I've been in the past few moments. The late news was on, and the day's stories flashed across the screen. When the sports report came on, all of us perked up a little (well, we are guys, after all), and had various (muted for Alison's sake) reactions to some of the scores.

When the sportscaster related the fact that the Bulls had lost earlier in the evening, we all heard a a quiet, frustrated "Shoot!" from Alison. Turning our heads as one, we all stared at her … watching her blink sleep from her eyes as she glared at the screen.

"I can't believe it—they lost to the _Grizzlies_! Who loses to a team that plays in the South—and named for _bears_, for God's sake!" She sat up a little, shaking her head in frustration.

"Wow, Alison … I never knew you were such a basketball fan", Wilson told her. She glared at him.

"I'm from Chicago, Wilson—it's in the genes, and the water. Remember—home of the greatest _ever_ to play the game--a fellow by the name of Michael Jordan? My family had season tickets to the games during the championship runs … we sat five rows behind the bench! The biggest frustration I had going to college and med school … wasn't leaving home; it was not being able to attend all the games." Well, I was surprised … once more, learning something about her I hadn't known before; that she was so much into basketball.

Which gave me an idea.

"That's it—you and I are going to a weekend game at Madison Square … first chance we get!" I said.

I guess I must have said the right thing just then … because she turned to look up at me with one of the biggest smiles I'd ever seen on her face.

"Really?" she exclaimed. "You're not just saying that--you're going to take me to see a game?" I smiled, almost laughing at her enthusiasm. I turned to Wilson, pointing at him.

"You'll help me set it up with Cuddy, so we don't get paged during the game or something?" I asked. He nodded, chuckling.

"It'll be my pleasure. Planning will, of course, be everything; you know how she likes her personnel schedules to be set weeks in advance." Both Alison and I nodded; Cuddy was … well, the word is 'anal', about staff schedules. She lived in eternal fear that she would leave the hospital uncovered, for any reason.

"Wilson … we'll give you our firstborn—_anything_ you want, if you help us pull it off," Alison said, practically giggling with delight.

"Hey! Are we even going to talk about it first, before you start selling off our children?" I protested with a chuckle. The sparkles in her eyes practically lit the living room all on their own.

"Sweetie--it's the Bulls! Any decent NBA fan knows that's worth at least _two_ kids!"

As she and the rest of us laughed, I shook my head … fondly watching her face. Her skin was flushed; and her lips were filled with the red of the blood that coursed through her … making them look like two ripe tomatoes. Before the spell of her lips became too much for me to resist, I turned back to Wilson.

"We'll owe you a big one, man—at least a nice dinner here. I really appreciate this." He shrugged it away, smiling … then answered in a voice eerily like Don Corleone from "The Godfather".

"Someday … I may come to you for a favor; as friends do."

We all laughed, again; even Chase knew the movie reference.

"As long as you don't ask for my flatscreen, we're cool. Anything else—or any _one_ else—is up for grabs." I surreptitiously nodded in Alison's direction as I said that, and Wilson stole a glance of his own towards her, before breaking out in laughter.

I got an elbow in the ribs, and a fist grabbing my shirt, for my transgression.

"You think you're a comic, 'Mr. Funny Man?' How about if you don't get _any_ … for the rest of the week—hmm?"

The room fell silent for a few heartbeats.

"Um…" I started to answer—but then she interrupted.

"_Rides in my car_, Eric--what did you think I meant when I said, '_any_'?"

Chase and Wilson managed to close their mouths enough to start laughing at me, along with my little tormentor; at what I am sure was the look on my face.

"_That_ one's going on my list, Alison … you'll _pay_ for that--believe it!" I threatened her.

She didn't say anything; just looked at me with a smile … and actually _yawned_!

"Whoops—sorry, sweetie … I guess I'm just tuckered out from the day we've had, and all the fun we're having here with our guests." I glared at her—which had absolutely no effect whatsoever.

Chase and Wilson were rolling with laughter by then. I was certain that this story would beat me back to the hospital, and I scowled at them.

"_Shut up,_ you two! You know, baseball season's coming, along with the NBA playoffs … it sure would be a shame, if I ran out of room and couldn't invite you two jokers over to watch them on the screen!" I was sure that threat would work better than the one I'd sent Alison's way … she was just too much in tune with me, for them to have any real effect.

That quieted them down, at least … both of them deciding, apparently, that having more beer was more important than saying anything else at that moment.

"Please don't threaten our friends, dear—why, they may take it as a symptom of you not recovering well, and report your rude behavior to Cuddy."

"That does it!" I muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear … and then I suddenly started tickling Alison mercilessly, causing her to jostle Chase … who spilled a little of his beer trying to avoid her flailing limbs, as she tried to escape.

"Eric—stop it! Stop!! Oh, god--help! Help me, guys!--please!" She was laughing, still trying to get away from me … but whenever it seemed like she'd moved far enough away, I just dragged her back to me, and started up my tickling again.

Wisely, Chase and Wilson stayed out of it … just watching and smiling at us.

Another few seconds of intense tickling … and I finally stopped, releasing her from my grip. Alison was practically on the floor between Chase and me, breathing heavily as she tried to regain control. She looked up at me, glaring at the smile on my face … pointing a finger at me.

"You … you … you're in _big_ trouble, mister … as soon as … I get some oxygen in me-- you're _mine_ …" she rasped … her face red from laughing and exhaustion.

It was my turn to return her look … and slowly let loose with a deep, loud yawn.

The look on her face turned murderous. I noticed, though, that this time … our guests _didn't_ laugh.

Figures. More scared of her than me, I suppose. I sighed; shaking my head … then gave Alison a hand up, back onto the couch. She came back to sit next to me, our eyes never leaving each other's. When she was close enough … I leaned in, and surprised her by kissing her full on the lips, for several seconds. When I finally pulled away, her eyes were closed … then they slowly opened, fixing me with a look of surprise and …delight.

Before you say anything … no, I didn't kiss her just because Chase and Wilson were there.

I kissed her, because I wanted to.

We both knew that they were watching. I wanted to let her know that I would "tell" her how I felt, when I needed or wanted to … whether there was anyone watching, or not.

Our faces just a few inches apart, we just sat there … looking in each other's eyes … until a quiet cough from Wilson brought us back.

"Well, I guess it's getting late, and we should let you guys get some rest," he said … a knowing smile on his face. Chase nodded, getting up from the couch but never taking his eyes from us, as they started collecting plates, napkins, and cans. I waved them to stop, as Alison and I both rose to stand.

"Don't worry about all that, guys … I'll get it. Thanks again for coming by, and for the food and drink. Do you want to take anything with you?"

They both shook their heads. "Nah," Chase said … you two finish the rest. I _will_ take the Fosters with me, though—since I'm _sure_ you won't be drinking it?" … he asked, hopefully. We looked at each other, chuckling softly.

"You're absolutely right, 'kangaroo boy,'" Alison told him … as she handed him his jacket, giving him a hug before turning to Wilson to do the same.

I'd reached my 'male hugging' quota for the week, so I settled for shaking both their hands as they got ready to leave.

"You guys need anything?" Wilson asked us.

"No, man—wait, yeah; do us a little favor? Tell Cuddy we're having the form she brought by looked at by a friend of mine. I just want to make sure it's OK, before I sign and return it to her." He nodded.

"Consider it done. Any messages for House?"

"Yeah", Alison answered this time. "Tell him to leave Eric's coffee cup right where it should be—we expect to see it there waiting for him … _when_ he comes back." There was iron in her quiet voice as she spoke from beside me, and I wrapped an arm around her waist … nodding in agreement. I gave Wilson a direct look. "Tell the constable."

Both he and Alison laughed—apparently remembering their "Henry V" from school, and the famous speech by the king just before the battle of Agincourt. Chase, poor guy, looked back and forth between us in confusion.

Wilson and Chase both watched us both for a few seconds, nodded with grins, and then turned to the door. Chase started speaking. "Thanks—this was fun. Wicked TV, Foreman. Call me if you want anything from work, or need something. If you can't get me on my cell, call the desk in the NICU." He took the bag containing the rest of the Fosters, and followed Wilson through the front door.

"You guys OK to drive?" Eric asked them.

"I'm driving; I only had two beers, so I'm good." Wilson answered.

"Either way … call us when you get home, please?" Alison asked him. Wilson turned to look at her.

"Alison, really—I'm—"

"Please?" she asked him again, her large dark eyes pleading. He shrugged. I didn't expect to ever meet the person who could resist_ that_ look from her.

Even House had trouble fending off that look from her, I knew.

"I'll _text_ you—OK?" She nodded in agreement, smiling at him. He quickly leaned over and kissed her on her cheek; causing her to blush.

Like a couple in some Norman Rockwell picture, we stood there in the doorway, arms around each other … waving at them as they got into Wilson's BMW, and drove off.

When we were satisfied that they wouldn't be weaving all over the road, we went back inside, closing and locking the door. I dropped my arm from her, heading towards the kitchen.

"I'm going to clean up in here, and then get ready for bed, love," I told her. "Why don't you grab the bathroom first, while I'm in here? Oh—where's your phone? Wilson should be texting soon; I'll catch it if it comes in while you're in the shower."

She went to her purse, pulling out her cell and leaving it on the kitchen counter … then she yawned, covering her mouth with a hand … and gave me a small smile. I knew she was tired, and getting close to crashing for the night. On the other hand, I felt like I was working off of a second wind; thinking that maybe I'd read a little before turning in for the night … once I'd gotten the pull-out bed in my second bedroom ready for Alison.

Rubbing my back, she gave me a kiss on my cheek … yawning again as she headed for the back of my place. I heard her sneeze from her spot in the hallway, and frowned … wondering if she was coming down with something. Deciding to try to head off anything she may be developing, I reached for the Tylenol I keep in one of the kitchen cabinets, and then pulled out a pan … filling it with water, so I could make her some tea. I didn't have any of the flavored teas she usually liked to drink, but I did have the regular Lipton bags, along with a bottle of honey in the fridge. Once the water was heating, I collected the rest of the uneaten pizza … wrapping it up, and putting it into the fridge along with the leftover beer. Once that was finished, I washed the dishes and silverware, and straightened both the living room and kitchen. I'd heard Alison change and then head for the bathroom; now, the water was running in the shower. Taking the opportunity, I grabbed linens and extra pillows from the closet in the hallway, and went into the second bedroom to pull out the sleeper bed from the sofa I kept in there for guests, and made it up for her. Heading back into the living room, I grabbed the latest paperback I was reading from the table by the recliner … an Alex Cross novel by James Patterson, and then went into my bedroom to stretch out on my bed … waiting for my turn in the bathroom.

After about fifteen minutes, Alison came out; her hair wrapped up in a large, soft towel, while the rest of her was in cotton pajamas bottoms with little stethoscopes on them in a pattern; the rest a top portion of a set of hospital scrubs. I grinned; scrubs were some of my favorite things to sleep in, too.

She was vigorously drying her hair with the towel … her whole body bringing with it the aromas of vanilla and clean, fresh skin. She went to sit on the foot of my bed, near my outstretched legs … while she finished drying off. The steam from her shower flowed out from the bathroom, warming the air around me. I pretended to read; but I was really watching her.

Looking even tinier than she normally did, her lithe body moved languorously as the towel moved back and forth.

"Like what you see, sweetie?" she suddenly asked. I nodded at her in the mirror.

"Always, babe", I answered. "How are you feeling? I thought maybe you were getting a cold." She shrugged—then, as if on cue, sneezed again. I handed her some tissues from a box I'd brought out from the other bedroom. She smiled, taking them with a nod.

"I do kind of feel a little congested, to tell you the truth … but I think a nice shower and a good night's sleep will do the trick," she said. She was still drying her long brunette hair.

"Need any help?"

She turned to me with a smile. "Are you offering to help me dry my hair, sweetie?"

"Sure. Give me a second, though—be right back." I moved off the bed; heading back to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. Pouring the now steaming water into a cup with two tea bags I'd prepared earlier, I filled it near the top … letting the tea steep for a couple of minutes, before pulling out the honey from the refrigerator and adding a couple of dollops to the hot liquid. Stirring it to dissolve the honey and removing the bags, I turned off the stove … carrying the cup with a saucer carefully back to my bedroom … along with her cell phone—in case Wilson messaged.

She was still sitting on the bed, reading the book I'd left there. Looking up as I entered, she saw the steaming cup, and carefully moved to the side of the bed, putting the book down. "What's that?" she asked.

"It's tea, with honey," I answered. "Hopefully, it'll keep your lungs open long enough for you to get some real sleep tonight. Here—be careful, it's hot. I'm going to slide around you, and finish your hair with the towel. You definitely don't want wet hair with a cold possibly coming on. Scoot back a little." I carefully settled behind her with the towel, and waited until she repositioned herself. She surprised me by changing positions enough so that she was sitting between my legs. Taking careful sips of the tea … she rewarded me with another smile, and then turned away … moving her still-wet hair away from her long pearly neck for me.

I took the towel, and held it in both hands as I settled most of it on her head … rubbing the hair I felt between my palms and fingers, the towel, and her scalp. I used long strokes to try to get as much water from her brunette strands as I could. She leaned back slightly, almost touching my chest as she held the cup between her hands.

"Mmm…this is good, Eric. It really hits the spot; thank you so much, darling."

I gave her neck a kiss, feeling her hot skin. I couldn't tell if it was from the shower, or an oncoming cold. Hoping it was the former, I whispered. "You're welcome, babe. Now, just relax."

I took my time with her hair, massaging and rubbing it dry with the towel … and then alternating with long strokes of my fingers, from the top of her head to her shoulders. Watching her face in the mirror, I saw that she'd closed her eyes, sighing occasionally from what I hoped was the job I was doing. Once her hair was dry enough, I spent some time with my hands on her shoulders, rubbing tension out of her soft skin. She was purring like a cat, a small smile on her lips encouraging me as I helped her relax. She'd finished the tea, and placed the empty cup on the night stand within reach … before leaning more against me, as though she didn't have the strength to hold herself up any more. We sat there, together … with her in my lap; my arms cradling her in a loose hug. She leaned her head back, turning to kiss my jaw as we both enjoyed the pleasurable contact.

Just then, her cell beeped; indicating an incoming message. Picking it up from its' spot next to her, she opened her eyes and squinted at the tiny screen … reading the message.

Nodding, she turned her phone off. "That was Wilson; they're both home OK. He dropped Chase off, and just got back to the hotel himself. Said not to call back; he'd call us tomorrow." I nodded behind her … gathering her closer in my arms as she settled like a cat in my arms. I heard a long, satisfied sigh from her, and then we were both silent for a while.

Unfortunately, it had to end, because I wanted to get my own shower and change for bed. I softly kissed the back of her neck, and then whispered, "I should probably go jump in the shower, love …"

"Do you have to, right now?" was her soft, sleepy, relaxed reply.

"If I don't go now, I never will … and I'd like to try to at least clean up half as well as you." She smiled.

"You don't have to worry, dear; your scent is perfect to me", she whispered in my ear … nuzzling me there. I released an involuntary groan when her lips touched me; she was getting good at finding the spots where I was particularly sensitive.

"Alison…" I sighed, not really wanting to move at all, myself. There was a … tension in the air; she and I were in my bed, but I'd made up the spare one for her. This was the moment I'd wondered about; since I'd asked her to stay with me.

Whether we'd end up sleeping in the same bed.

She opened her eyes, looking at us through the mirror facing the bed. "You've made up the spare bed, haven't you?"

I watched her eyes, not sure at that moment what she was feeling. "I … I wanted to give you the option … I didn't want to just assume we'd …" She was still watching me; hew own uncertainties appearing in her eyes.

"Yeah, I … might be coming down with a cold, and we … never had a chance to talk about … sleeping arrangements."

I nodded. Both of us had glum looks on our reflections in the mirror.

"Alison … I want to wake up next to you, watching those beautiful eyes of yours open—but I'm worried about how you're starting to feel—physically, I mean," I quickly told her, seeing her eyes narrow as she studied my face. "You feel warm to me, you've been sneezing, and …" She held up a hand.

"You're right. Honestly, as wonderful as your hands have been tonight, I'm not feeling well. I think the lack of rest has caught up to me …"

"…and dragging you outdoors to the preserve didn't help, either; I'm sure…" I mumbled, mentally kicking myself for tiring her further … when I knew she had to be near the end of even her reserves of energy.

Her gaze suddenly sharpened, and she took my chin in one hand. "Don't do that. Don't take what was a wonderful time for me—for us, and use it to blame yourself. I don't want to hear it. This is no one's fault, and you'd better nip this blame game in the bud right now, Eric—you hear me?"

The steel and passion in her voice pulled me up, and practically yanked me off the blame tracks I was settling on.

"Yes, Your Grace", I told her, with a small grin … watching her scrutinize my face instead of returning my grin, as she usually did.

"I'm serious, Eric. You take too much on those wide, strong shoulders of yours sometimes; even things that you had nothing to do with. You should know right now … that I intend to help change that tendency of yours; I'm just giving you fair warning." She continued to hold my gaze.

"Okay, okay. I hear what you're saying, and I consider myself so warned. And, just so you know—that tendency of yours to be bossy, is gonna need some adjustment, too …" I was joking; but, to my amazement … she nodded, all seriousness.

"Yeah … I know I can be a little 'overbearing' sometimes. You help me with that, I'll help you with your thing; deal?"

This moment was a reminder to me of how committed she was to our relationship; people don't generally ask for your help in changing something about them … unless they were truly invested in their relationship with you.

I matched her look with one of my own, and nodded. "Deal."

"Good," she answered, smiling a tired smile. "I want to sleep here, stay next to you, too. I was hoping—", she paused for a moment, looking away from me … an uncertain look on her face. Turning back, she continued. "After today, I was hoping we'd both be comfortable enough with the idea, and I was looking forward to this," she ran a hand across my neck, her fingers exploring the open area between my Adam's Apple, and the top of my shirt. I caught her hand in mine, giving her a direct look.

"Me, too, love. When you're feeling better…?" Her eyes were open, and intent.

"…when I'm feeling better …" she whispered in agreement.

We looked in each other's eyes for a moment, and then I started moving … taking her hand, and bringing her with me off the bed. I headed for the hallway, Alison right beside me. When we didn't make the turn to my second bedroom, instead moving towards the kitchen, she quipped, "gonna hit that pie before your shower, sweetie?" I laughed, shaking my head. When we got to the kitchen, I released her hand so that I could get a small cup and fill it with juice from the fridge. Once I'd done that, and handed her the cup … I went to the bottle of Tylenol I'd left out earlier, and took two capsules from it. Handing them to her, I motioned for her to drink.

"Just in case the heat from your body isn't your usual sexy gorgeousness," I told her … smiling as she blushed, chuckling and shaking her head, before swallowing the tablets and downing the juice. Taking the cup, I rinsed it and left it in the sink, and then took her hand again as I shut off all the lights still on in the kitchen and living room. We moved down the darkened hallway, this time turning to the bedroom she'd sleep in tonight.

Another sneeze as she reached the bed prompted me to hand her more tissues as I watched her climb under the sheets and comforter that I'd moved from my room into hers. While waiting for her to get settled, I turned off the lamps and ceiling light … then turned to watch her curvy body get comfortable. Once she was, I leaned over her, finding her mouth with mine in a kiss that was probably the shortest of all the kisses we'd shared to this point.

"Good night, love. Holler or come wake me if you need anything; I'm serious, OK?" I brushed her soft hair a couple of times, feeling its silkiness between my fingers.

"'Night, sweetie … pleasant dreams … she answered, already drifting off to sleep.

I knew my dreams would be pleasant … since I was sure she'd be in them. Straightening, I watched her for a few seconds, and then glided out of the room … quietly closing the door behind me.

My own shower still waited, and I thought I'd read some more before I closed my own eyes for the night … just to keep an ear out for her, in case she had trouble sleeping. A quick ten minutes in the shower, then a change into my own sleeping outfit … and I was finally settled in myself, reading by the one lamp I'd left on.

There were no sounds from her room or the rest of the apartment, and another forty-five minutes or so of reading brought me to just before 1AM. Yawning, I debated whether to go and check up on her, but decided against it. I didn't want to take the chance of waking her, depriving her of even seconds of the sleep I knew she needed. That included me, I reminded myself sternly, as I folded down the corner of the page I'd stopped reading on, and put the book aside. Turning off the lamp, the room plunged into darkness … except for the faint glow from the windows in the living room. I'd decided to leave my own door cracked open; so that I could hear her if she called me, or needed anything.

Settling down into my bed, I cradled one of the pillows against my chest … wishing it was Alison.

I drifted off to sleep soon afterward.

The next morning, I awoke with shafts of sunlight in my face, streaming through my bedroom window … and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It read 8:30, and immediately thinking about Alison, I leapt out of the bed … padding quietly out of my room—down the hall, towards hers.

The door was in the same position I'd left it in last night; which told me she hadn't left the room. I moved silently to the opening, and looked through to see her still in bed … the sheets and comforter twisted and wrapped around her. From what I could see of her face, she was still asleep; I was glad she'd slept as long as I did. Some people lost a lot of sleep while they were sick; my Dad was like that, never able to sleep all the way through a night when he had a cold, or the flu.

I didn't want to wake her, but I did want to check on her, to see if her symptoms had gotten any worse since last night. Slowly backing away from the doorway of the room, I turned and went into the kitchen … getting a glass from the drainer and filling it with orange juice. Carrying it back to her room, I slowly opened the door, and crept over to her … placing the full glass on the stand next to the couch.

Looking down at her, my stomach clenched as I noticed beads of sweat on her forehead, wetting the hair nearest her scalp. As carefully as I could, I placed my hand on her forehead; she was hot and sweating, but didn't seem to have a raging fever. I had a digital thermometer in the bathroom, and turned away to get it. I needed to find out what her temp was.

Retrieving the unit and turning it on, I slipped back into her room. She hadn't stirred, and I hoped that was the case once I was finished. Pressing the test button, I gently placed the sensor in her ear … trying not to wake her. When the unit beeped, I drew it from her ear as quickly as I could; afraid the sound would startle her into waking up. She did move a little bit … a low moan escaping her lips, as I studied the readout.

100.1, it said. Up there … but it could be worse. Breathing as quiet a sigh of relief as I could, I turned off the thermometer … leaving it next to the glass of juice. She moved again; and I decided to risk sitting down on the pullout bed, next to her, so that I could watch her for any more symptoms.

She didn't seem to have any rasping breathing, or be shivering from the temperature variations a bad cold or the flu could bring; I took all of that for good signs. I was still worried, though; if she got worse, I didn't have any drugs stronger than Tylenol in the apartment—and I still didn't feel like risking getting behind the wheel of a car. Not that I wanted to leave her, at any rate.

As well as not being 100 confident in my driving abilities at the moment, I needed to be brutally honest about my diagnostics skills, too; I could be missing something with her, because I was still recovering from a serious illness myself. That scared me … more than anything else did.

I needed some help … and a second opinion; just in case.

Brushing her hair away from her flushed face, I leaned down to kiss her temple as softly as I could … then carefully got off the bed, in order to head to the living room … and the phone. I thought about who I should call. We'd really imposed a lot on Wilson, I felt; and Chase—even though I knew he'd come, no questions asked—didn't need to be distracted by Alison being sick.

Very briefly, I thought about calling House. That thought didn't last too long, since the hassles and baggage involved in asking him to come over just wasn't worth the aggravation.

That left one person.

Lowering myself onto the couch in the living room, I dialed the number of the hospital, asking to be connected to Cuddy's office. After assuring both the main receptionist and Cuddy's assistant that I was recovering well, I was finally patched over to her phone. She picked up after one ring.

"Dr. Cuddy."

"Morning, Cuddy; it's Foreman."

"Eric! How are you doing? Is everything OK? I hear tell you had a little party at your place last night; why exactly wasn't I invited, pray tell?"

I cringed. We should have asked her to come.

"Sorry about that; I guess we just thought you'd have some donors thing, or something …" My excuse sounded lame, and we both knew it. Cuddy, though, wasn't the type to throw a hissy fit over something like this. My guess was that Wilson told her it was no big deal; an "off the cuff" thing, which it was.

"Nope. Don't worry about it, though—it'll just cost you a week of clinic hours as punishment. You didn't answer my question; how are you feeling, and how's my best immunologist?"

"I'm doing really well, I think. Just resting as much as I can, but still staying away from driving—I'm not 100 on some of my special recognition just yet. And Alison—Cameron's doing OK. She's sleeping right now …"

Cuddy chuckled. "You can go ahead and refer to her by her first name around me, Eric; I'm told you two are, um … _close_ these days".

Yep, I thought … that story definitely has beaten us back to work. Shaking my head, I wanted to bring the conversation back to the reason I called in the first place.

"No comment at this time," I told her … almost feeling the disappointment flowing over the phone cord from her, at not being given any new, updated morsels for the PPTH rumor mill. Well, that was just too bad.

"Listen … the reason I'm calling is, well, Alison's come down with something, and she's running a temp of around 100. It looks to me like just a cold, but … I'm not supposed to be practicing right now, and I don't have anything stronger to give her than Tylenol, in case it gets worse … and I'm not driving anywhere – not that I'd leave her alone, anyway …"

"Whoa, whoa, Eric—slow down," she said. "Is she coughing? Any pulmonary symptoms that you can see?"

"No—well, she was coughing a little before bed last night, but she took a long shower … and that seemed to help the coughs, at least. She didn't wake up at all during the night, as far as I know—she's just flushed, and sweating."

There was a slight pause, before her voice came back on the line.

"Okay—I understand. For the record, Eric—I think you're smart to call, and get another opinion. You shouldn't be diagnosing even simple stuff like this, just in case it turns out to be something else. Good for you--that's the kind of thinking I expect from you. Listen—I'm supposed to be meeting with the nursing supervisor in five minutes, but I'm going to postpone that, and come by. Do you have any NyQuil at your place?"

I was surprised—thinking that she'd assign another doctor who had some time to come by and take a look at Alison—someone who wasn't House. I didn't expect that she'd volunteer to come herself.

"Cuddy—Lisa, you don't, I mean … go ahead with your meeting. She hasn't woken up yet, and I can ask her how she's feeling when she does…" I heard her sigh over the line.

"Eric—hush. It's OK. The meeting is nothing crucial, and two of my doctors—and friends—need a hand. I don't want to send anyone else to you, because I want to see for myself how both of you are doing. This place is quiet, without you two troublemakers roaming the halls. House is working in the clinic right now; I could send him over there, but I'm guessing you wouldn't be in favor of that. So, I'm going to reschedule my meeting, swing by the store to pick up some stuff, and be at your place in about forty minutes or so—clear?"

She was using her "this is how it's going to be, whether you agree or not" voice—so, what else could I say?

"Yes, ma'am. And, thanks, Lisa—I admit; I'm a little worried about her. She lost so much rest, taking care of me…"

"I know—but, Eric … she did it willingly, because she cares about you. You know that. Now, we just need to make sure you're both OK. Let her sleep; I'm on my way, OK? Try not to worry about anything."

"OK, Lisa. Thank you."

"You're welcome. See you in a bit--bye."

"Bye."

She hung up, and I clicked off the now-dead call … putting the phone back on the coffee table.

I sat there for a minute, thinking … and feeling bad, once again, about how I'd treated Cuddy while I was in isolation at the hospital. I said some cruel things to her, and immediately regretted saying them … hating myself for the look on her face, as I watched her slowly walk away from the isolation suite.

She forgave me, just as Alison did. I wondered what I did, though … to have two such amazing women in my life.

Sighing, I lifted myself from the couch … deciding to check on Alison again. Moving again to the frame of the room door, I saw her still in bed … still asleep, thankfully. The glass of juice sat untouched where I'd left it for her.

Not wanting to be any further away from her than I was, I carefully moved one of the chairs in the room over to the side of the bed she slept on, and sat down … watching her all the while. I could see more of her face now; her breathing seemed even and unimpaired. I was sure Cuddy would check her lungs when she arrived.

The irony of our reversed positions wasn't lost on me, as I watched her sleep.

Just about thirty minutes later, I heard a soft tapping at the front door.

Careful not to make any noises that would startle Alison out of sleep, I got up and went to the front door to let Cuddy in. When I opened the door, she stood there … a supermarket back in one arm; one of the hospitals' portable medical kits in the other, with her purse slung over one shoulder. She was dressed as usual to the nines. Today, since it looked like it may rain at some point … she was covered in a sleek, stylish trench coat that probably cost twice what I paid for my flatscreen.

Such was the life of a Dean of Medicine, I reckoned.

Taking one look at me, she skipped right to the heart of the matter. "You're really worried about her." I gave her a shrug and a grin.She was giving me an appraising look; I think I knew what she was watching for, and I was sure she'd find it. I wasn't thinking about that, or anything else at the moment; just Alison.

"Is it that obvious? Good morning, by the way." Standing to the side, I let her in … then closed the door behind her. She went to the kitchen table, setting the bags down before I could help her … then shrugged out of her coat. "Morning, Eric. Is she still asleep?" She started emptying the contents of the shopping bag out on the table; more orange juice, a few cans of chicken noodle soup, two bottles of NyQuil—one for days, the other for nights—a box of crackers, and some other things. I was just about to answer her, when we heard a noise from the living room.

"No, she's not", Alison said … standing there wrapped in the comforter; her hair all askew. It didn't matter what she looked like at the moment; she was the most beautiful woman I knew. She sneezed, and then swallowed a couple of times before she continued—in a rough, sleepy voice.

"I get a little cold, and you call for the nearest Dean of Medicine, hon?" she asked me, smiling at Cuddy—who returned it, while still emptying out the bag—before turning to me with a slightly raised eyebrow. I went over to take her in my arms.

"Yes, I'm worried about you; and since I'm not supposed to be diagnosing or treating people … I called for a little help and a second opinion. Little did I realize that this was Cuddy's '_easy_' day at the hospital."

"Oh, yeah … like I really have any of _those_!" Cuddy snorted from behind us. "Forgotten who your immediate supervisor is, have you, Foreman?" I chuckled, while Alison shook her head in amusement … leaning into me as I continued to hold her. I couldn't tell through the comforter if she was still running a fever, or not. Kissing her temple, I rubbed her back a few times. Cuddy finished what she was doing, and came over to stand next to us … a small smile on her face; put there, no doubt, both by what she'd already heard from Wilson and Chase … and from the body language she could see between Alison and I.

"He did the right thing, Alison; please don't be mad at him. And be thankful I didn't ask House to come, instead."

"In that case … you're the finest human being I know, Dr. Cuddy," Alison replied in a too-quiet, weary voice. We all laughed.

"I would have come, anyway," Cuddy said. "Don't let this go to your head, but I care about you, too. When Eric told me you were sick, I wanted to check on you myself. So-how are you feeling—and please answer without any more smart-aleck comments, if you don't mind?" Alison actually stuck out her tongue at our boss's boss.

"I'm really OK, you two. I just have a cold, and a little fever. I'm not shivering, and up until _you_ arrived … I was sleeping just fine." Cuddy raised an eyebrow; giving Alison a small glare … while I sighed.

"Could you _behave_, for just a few minutes—please? She came all the way over here…" I started, but she waved me quiet.

"I know, I know … sorry, guys; I guess I'm just a little cranky. I haven't had any coffee. Thanks, Lisa—really. I think everything just kinda caught up to me; I'm sure I'll be fine in another day or so. I never keep colds for long, and Eric will take care of me. He can't wait to even the score for all the 'mothering' I've been giving _him_ lately."

Cuddy glanced at me, grinning. "Wow … she's really a pain in the ass when she's sick—isn't she?" she asked, in as serious a voice as she could manage. I tried my best not to laugh … just barely managing not to.

"Hey!" Alison protested. "I am _not_ a pain in the ass!" Instead of laughing, I held up a hand. "You think maybe you two could pick this up again in, say … maybe a week or so? It'd be great if someone could do a little bit of diagnosing around here…"

_Both_ of them gave me gentle slaps on the head. I looked up at the ceiling … pretending to pray for strength, while the two 'jokers' laughed. Alison's didn't last too long, before she started coughing again.

"All right--enough playing around. Eric; can you make some tea and dry toast for her, while I check her out?" Cuddy was all business; quickly retrieving the med kit from the kitchen table and then coming back to guide Alison towards the back of the apartment. Deciding to have one last bit of fun … I came to attention, barking out in a clear, military voice: "Aye-aye, ma'am!", then turned on my heel and marched into the kitchen.

I didn't see it … but I knew both women were rolling their eyes. As they headed back to Alison's room, I put the items Cuddy'd brought with her away … leaving out the DayQuil. Starting some water to boil, I got a few slices of bread, toasted them, and then spread a _very_ thin layer of cream cheese on them … while at the same time setting up a mug-- with some honey--for the tea. Alison _loves_ cream cheese; she keeps a ready supply in the doctor's lounge fridge, in case she ever forgets to ask for it when she gets bagels. She's even managed to get me to have it more, on my bagels; I was perfectly content to eat them plain, but she decided I needed to be "converted" for some reason.

To my knowledge, she's never forgotten.

I also started some coffee (for Cuddy and myself; Alison didn't need the jolt of caffeine in her system right now), and used the rest of the toast (covered with peanut butter; I wasn't in the mood for cream cheese myself, this morning) to eat, while I waited for Cuddy to finish.

Almost fifteen minutes later, I heard them call me from her room, and I picked up the tray I'd gotten out earlier to carry three cups, a plate of toast, and some napkins to my two guests.

Reaching the partly-open door to her room, I saw them both sitting in bed; both with their backs against the couch/headboard part of the hideaway bed. Alison was covered in the comforter, while Cuddy sat near her … her legs stretched out towards the end of the bed.

"Wow … see how good he treats me?" Alison said … smiling as I brought the tray within reach … setting it between them, and taking a seat myself on the end of the bed … with my coffee cup in hand.

"Is that coffee? Can I—" Alison continued—until both Cuddy and I shook our heads.

"Nope—the tea's better for you right now, and you know it", Cuddy told her. She picked up the mug with the tea, and carefully handed it to her. I handed Cuddy the cup of coffee I'd made for her, and she smiled at me.

"Thanks."

"Thank you—for everything." I answered. She nodded.

I placed the plate of toast on Alison's lap, along with a couple of napkins. I was happy to see her start eating right away; a lack of appetite would have me even more worried.

"So", I began, "how's she doing?" Cuddy snagged a piece of toast from the plate, barely avoiding the attempted slap on her hand by Alison. We both glared at her … while she assumed an air of angelic innocence, chewing on her toast. When she saw the cream cheese, she gave me a look of gratitude.

"I thought I said, 'dry' toast, Eric?" Cuddy accused me. I shrugged.

"Sorry; old habit, I guess." Alison stayed quiet … eating and sipping her tea, glancing between Cuddy and I.

Cuddy shrugged. "Well, her fever's down to a little over 99; her lungs sound pretty clear, and as you can see … she hasn't lost her appetite. I swabbed her mouth, so I can have Chase run a panel when I get back to the hospital, to make sure it's nothing more than strep; I'll call you when he's got the results." I nodded. "It doesn't look like pre-flu, or pneumonia; just an average cold. She should sleep as much as possible today, and stay away from drafts, of course. You both know all this."

"I brought the NyQuil, but it's going to dry out her throat if you use it, so unless she gets worse … leave it be. I'll set aside a streptomycin prescription for her, just in case. I'll have it delivered. How are you set for food?—it'd be good if you both rested and slept as much as possible today, without having to go anywhere."

"We stocked up for the week at the store when I brought him home; we're all set … right, hon?" Alison asked, drinking more tea. I nodded; noticing the smile on Cuddy's face when she heard Alison call me "hon."

"Yeah. Between that, and the pizza & beer the guys left last night, we've got plenty of food."

"That's good—just lay off the beer until she's better—you hear me?" Cuddy pointed at me. I raised both hands in agreement.

"I want you two to promise me that you'll call, if you need _anything_—you're too sick to drive anywhere," she glanced at Alison … "and you shouldn't drive until you're ready." That last part was, of course … directed at me. "If I can't bring whatever you need myself, I'll have one of my lackeys deliver it."

"We promise, Mom—so, can we watch TV, until you get home from work later?" Alison asked in a girly voice. This time, I _did_ laugh—even more so, when Cuddy slapped Alison's head--gently, of course.

"Hey!" she complained, rubbing the spot. Cuddy rolled her eyes … and then narrowed them at me.

"I blame you and Wilson, you know--she used to be a respectful young woman, until you two _corrupted_ her!" I spluttered a protest … while Alison chuckled as she finished the rest of her tea--and two whole pieces of toast.

"Wait just a minute—we work for the 'king of sarcasm', and you don't blame _him_ at all?" Cuddy sighed.

"_That_ goes without saying; it gets boring, having to verbalize why House is at fault for everything … doesn't it?"

All three of us laughed. Cuddy was in rare form this morning, even for her. Sighing, she climbed off the bed, straightening her suit as she did. She collected the med kit from the floor next to the side table, where she'd placed it after finishing her examination.

"Well, this has been all kinds of fun, but I've got to get back; House has probably burned down the clinic by now. I want to hear from you if she gets worse, or if you need anything. I'll call tomorrow morning to see how things are. Oh—Foreman, Wilson told me about the form. Don't worry about it—the damn lawyers came up with that thing against my objections; I don't blame you for wanting someone to advise you on it. I'd do the same thing, in your place. Don't worry; I'll hold them off until you've had a chance to have it looked over."

"At the risk of sounding repetitious; thank you. Especially for coming to take a look at Alison." Alison nodded, smiling at her friend and mentor. Cuddy waved it off.

"No problem. I'll tell House you guys are doing fine. So far, we haven't gotten anything I thought Diagnostics should look at, so he's been splitting his time between his soaps, bothering me and Wilson, and the clinic. I brought some juice with me; don't let her get dehydrated any further." She went around to the other side of the pullout bed, giving Alison a hug. "Rest, Alison; I'll talk to you later." Alison hugged her back.

"Thanks."

"I'll be right back," I told her … collecting the cups, plate, and tray. She settled down further on the bed, gathering the comforter around her. I followed Cuddy from the room.

We walked back to the front door, and I helped her into her coat after she'd collected her purse and I'd left the tray by the sink. "She's fine, Eric—her throat looks as well as you could expect with a cold, and the temp's gone down. Don't worry about her, and don't forget you should be taking it easy, too. I'm sure the swab will be typical; I'll keep you in the loop on it."

"She's going to sleep for a while; I saw it in her eyes. I'll try to sleep when she does; it'll be better that way." Cuddy nodded, smiling as I opened the door for her. "Talk to you soon," she said.

"Hey—why don't you come over Saturday night; if you don't have any plans, that is. I'll make dinner, and we'll keep it small—just us three. What do you think?" She grinned.

"That sounds wonderful, thank you—can we have that catfish dish?" I chuckled.

"I'm sure I can get her to make it again."

"Good." She surprised me by placing a small kiss on my cheek before heading out to her car. A light rain had started, turning everything grey outdoors … making it a perfect day for staying in and watching a movie or TV. I watched her get in her car and drive off, and then closed the door.

Padding back to Alison's room, I found her fully stretched out on the bed … her eyes closed. I went over, carefully climbing on the bed next to her. Reaching up to run my fingers through her hair, she opened her eyes at my first touch.

"Sorry, girl; I thought you'd gone back to sleep," I whispered.

"Not yet; I was waiting for you." She knew I'd be back at her side. I nodded, smiling down at her.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah … stay here with me, please?"

"You don't even need to ask," I told her … adjusting the comforter over both of us, as she scooted over under it, next to me. I pulled her even closer … wrapping my arms around her as much as I could; while leaving enough space for her to move. She tucked her head underneath my chin, her head resting on my upper chest. I continued to stroke her hair, and a few minutes later, she was sound asleep again.

Staring at the far wall of the room, I thought about Cuddy's visit. I was glad that she verified what I'd thought and hoped; that all Alison had was a simple cold. Deep down … I guess I've been waiting for something bad to happen from my trying to infect her, while I was sick. That fear has been chewing up my gut whenever I looked in its' direction. The single, worst, lowest moment of my life; even worse than watching my brother being sentenced to the penitentiary … because I hadn't tried to infect _him_ with a deadly disease.

No … all I did was let him take the fall for me.

That guilt, and now the loathing I felt over what I almost did to Alison … has reminded me how close I can get to that line—the line that people cross sometimes, and never find their way back.

Her forgiveness … her absolution, has been the only thing that's kept me from sinking into depression. I wondered if that was all that formed the basis for my feelings for her now; if it was, then it wasn't going to be enough. We wouldn't make it, because we'd be together for all the wrong reasons.

Looking down into her sleeping face, I wasn't convinced of that. Whenever I'm around her, the truth of what she told the guys last night becomes more and more solid; we truly have started over with each other. Since that's the case, I told myself … the bad things I'd done in the hospital were now in the past. Our past, true … but the past, nonetheless.

Where I needed to leave it, for good—just like she does.

How? I don't quite understand how she does it. Or whether she's even had the same thoughts, the same doubts, that I have. I'm almost afraid to ask, in a way. Afraid that, if she hasn't had them … my questions would plant them in her mind and heart. Why I'm struggling with this, now … I'm not sure. I think I'm just--overthinking.

I need to keep reminding myself to follow the voice of my heart, instead of always listening to the voice of my logical, cynical side. Does that mean that what we have is emotion or physical-based?

No.

As beautiful as she is on the outside, I've had an opportunity that few guys get with her—I get to see the mind, the personality, the strength of her character as well. Those qualities of hers are just as beautiful as she is, physically.

Plus … she seems to be as drawn to me, as I am to her.

I glance at the clock on the wall. She's been sleeping for a couple of hours, now … good. Her temp doesn't seem to have gotten higher, either-- thank God. Sending another mental 'thank you' to Cuddy, I pick up my thoughts where I'd left them.

The look in her eyes when she said she'd been waiting for me … wow. I wish I could describe it. I can't, though—all I can do … is to remember the sight, the wonderful sight of it. Every man wants a woman to look at him the way she did at that moment. When she looked at me that way … I felt like I was growing wings to fly.

I'll think about that, recall the memory … whenever the doubts come. I'm sure they won't stay long.

She stirs a little ... moving her free arm and hand to lay across my chest … her hand moving around, until it finally comes to rest over my heart. I add a slow backrub to what I'm already doing with her hair … slowly running my fingers through the soft, straight brunette strands. I've always thought she had the perfect match of hair to her face and complexion; it's hard to imagine her as a blonde, or as a redhead. I listen as she sighs when the hand I'm using to rub her back touches uncovered skin between the bottom of her hospital scrub shirt and the top of her pajamas.

It'll be good, when both of us are back to normal health, I thought … smiling.

"You're smiling--I can feel it. What's my sneaky and underhanded doctor thinking about?" I chuckled. Her voice was so soft; it barely carried past my ears.

"I prefer the term 'boyfriend', instead of 'doctor' – if you don't mind. And—aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

She lifted her head at hearing that, and planted her chin on my chest … her sleepy eyes studying me.

"Did I hear you right, or is it the cold? Did you just say … 'boyfriend'?"

"Well … I'd also be in favor of substituting 'hot Afro lover', but…" She didn't laugh; although her eyes sparkled with humor.

"_Eric_…"

I watched her expression…not sure of what I was seeing.

"Yes, I said 'boyfriend'—if you're OK with—mmmmm…" Her lips suddenly latched onto mine so fast, I didn't have time to prepare. Her kiss was soft, sweet … and ended with her face next to mine…her mouth near my ear.

"I'm more than 'OK' with it, honey," she whispered. Her head moved slightly, her face appearing above mine. Her eyes were bright, happy…and a little watery as she looked down at me.

"Am I moving too fast?" I quietly asked her. She slowly shook her head.

"No, you're not. I want to be your girlfriend, Eric. It's how I think of myself. I know it _feels_ like things are moving pretty fast—"

I shook my head. "Why don't we decide that for ourselves, Alison? Anything else would be other people's ideas, their expectations. Let's make our own time, and our own way."

She slowly smiled. "I like that idea. You're a poet, Eric, you know that?" I grinned up at her.

"Not a 'silver-tongued devil', you mean?" We laughed.

"Maybe 'silver-tongued', yeah … but you're no devil, sweetheart."

We just lay there … looking into each other's eyes, lost in them. The sudden beeping from my cell phone in the other room jarred us back to the moment.

"Hang on; be right back, OK?"

She reluctantly moved off me, getting out of bed. "I'm coming with you; I'm feeling much better. I think I just needed to sleep some more." She stood next to the bed, waiting for me as I rose … gathering up the comforter as I did. She took my free hand, and we went into the living room. Picking up my cell from the coffee table, I saw that it was a text message from Chase.

He must have done the tests on Alison's swab as soon as he got it from Cuddy. Opening the message, I read:

Eric—A swab tests came back. Slight staph infect. - nothing else. She'll B fine—tell her we miss her. You 2. Told evry 1 here. House said 2 stop lazing arnd. Call if U need anything-even anchov. -C 

I turned the screen towards Alison to show her Chase's message. She laughed at the last part about the anchovies, handing the phone back to me … then plopping down on the couch—looking as relieved as I felt.

I'd have to make sure I thanked Chase for running those tests so quickly; he probably had someone cover for him in the NICU or the clinic, while he was in the labs—with House looking over his shoulder., most likely.

Still standing, I waved the phone at her. "I'm going to put this in the charger—what do you want for lunch?" I started walking back to my bedroom, where I kept my cell charger on the nightstand … while I listened for her answer. Suddenly remembering something, I called out, "Oh—almost forgot. Cuddy's coming over for dinner Saturday night, and she specifically mentioned your catfish dish. Is that OK, can you make the magic happen again?"

She chuckled as I placed the phone in its' cradle, and then returned to the living room.

"Yeah, that'll be great. We'll have to go back to the store for more fish sometime between now and then, though. Is anyone else coming?"

"No—and I think we should keep it that way. A nice, small, quiet dinner with her is all I want; we'll politely refuse anyone else who tries to 'horn in.'" She nodded, pointing at me.

"My thoughts exactly, darling. What did you want to make for lunch? I'll help …" She started to get up, but I held up a hand to stop her.

"Hold it right there, 'Midwest'. Sit right back down there where you were, girl. I'll do all the work; you just rest. Let's get you some soup and crackers, and I'll fix a BLT for myself. You want water, hot tea, or iced tea?" I was heading to the kitchen.

"Some iced tea would be nice. My throat feels strong enough for something cold, and I'm thirsty. Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome", I called back from the kitchen, where I was pulling out pans, cans of soup, and other things I needed. "Why don't you see what's on TV?"

I heard the flatscreen come to life, as I chose some vegetable soup from Cuddy's delivery. Filling a pan with the soup, I set it to heat while I found some bacon to fry up … pulling out some lettuce, a couple of tomatoes, and wheat bread. The iced tea was ready; I always kept a supply made up in a pitcher, since I liked it to drink as much as she did. Placing a few strips of bacon in a heated pan, I kept an eye on it as I quickly sliced up the tomatoes. A few slices I would use for my sandwich; the rest, I'd chop up and spread, then broil, on some crackers for Alison.

Once the soup was ready, I had some grated cheese I planned on spreading on top, as well as adding a little cilantro for taste. Placing the crackers topped with the chopped tomatoes on a flat pan, I slid it into my heated broiler for a few minutes, while waiting for the soup to be ready. I toasted the wheat toast, then gave each slice a thin spread of soft cream cheese … covered by lettuce and the slices of tomatoes. The kitchen quickly filled with the aromas of simmering soup, baking bread and tomatoes, and the comforting heat from the appliances.

I filled two tall glasses with ice cubes and the cold tea, drinking half of one before refilling it. Cooking always made me thirsty; another reason I kept iced tea handy.

Opening up the refrigerator, I found my bag of cilantro … and pulled some out to chop up and add to the soup. Store bought soups always tasted too salty to me; adding things like cilantro not only improved the taste, but counterbalanced the salt, as well. I could just add water or stock to thin out the soup … but I've always preferred thick, hearty soups.

My sandwich finished and plated, I turned my attention to the soup … now bubbling happily. Getting a bowl and a plate from the cabinet, I ladled enough into the bowl to fill it, sprinkled the cheese on top, waiting while it melted as I pulled the crackers from the broiler—which were toasted perfectly, the tomatoes just slightly brown without being dried out. I set the bowl in the center of the plate, surrounded it with the tomatoes and crackers … adding it to my tray along with the plate holding my sandwich, along with the glasses of iced tea, silverware, and some napkins. Making sure the broiler and top range were both off, I carried the tray into the living room.

Alison looked up as I came in … smiling and sniffing appreciatively. She'd pulled her legs up underneath herself, and covered them with the comforter. The flatscreen had some movie I didn't recognize showing. Well, at least she wasn't watching one of those dumb Jerry Springer-like car crashes of so-called "entertainment". Carefully setting down the tray on the coffee table, I handed her a couple of napkins, sat down next to her … and then brought her bowl and plate to her.

Her eyes widened as she had a look at what they contained. Grabbing one of the crackers, she tasted it … grinning as she chewed, looking at me.

"Ericmmph--this is great!" she mumbled … her mouth filling rapidly as she added a large spoonful of the soup to the remains of the first tomato-covered cracker in her full mouth.

"Hey—slow down there, Speed Racer … remember to chew and swallow here and there, all right?" I told her, receiving a half-glare in reply. Taking a couple of bites of my sandwich, I suddenly felt her lips kiss my cheek before she went back to eating.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"For taking care of me, and for being my 'sweet patootie'", she replied … a smirk on her face.

"'_Sweet patootie'_? Promise me you'll _never_ call me that in public—or in private, now that I think about it." She shook her head … laughing around a cracker.

"Nope—can't make you that promise, sorry. When someone is as great as you are, he becomes a sweet—"

"Please, _please … don't_ finish that statement, Alison! Do you know what would happen if anyone at the hospital— or my family — heard you call me that? I'd spend the rest of my life living it down!"

She was almost rolling in laughter … the bowl with her soup threatening to spill all over us. I just rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I tried to finish my sandwich in as dignified a manner as I could manage—and prevent being doused in hot soup along the way.

"Can I at least use that as your screen name on my phone?" she asked in a sweet, teasing voice, after she'd regained some control.

"No."

"How about if I got a shirt that says, 'I'm with my sweet—'"

"_No!_" I couldn't help it … feeling a sliver of a grin appearing on my lips. She smiled when she saw it; demon that she is. That didn't stop her, though.

"Killjoy."

"Eat your food, crazy woman."

She didn't answer … she just leaned over while balancing the bowl in her hands, and brought her mouth to mine in a kiss. I closed my eyes, enjoying what her lips were doing to me. When she finally let go of my mouth, turning back to the movie and her food with a smile … all I could do was watch her for a moment.

I was a goner. She had me, completely. I was her boyfriend … and she was my girlfriend.

Smiling, I continued eating my sandwich. When we finished the food, I went to the kitchen to refill our glasses and leave the dishes in the sink … and then returned to gather her close inside my arms as we continued to watch the movie; now stretched out on the couch, with me layingbehind her. Her head rested on one of my arms, while my other arm circled her waist. Our feet did little massaging dances together under the comforter, while I let one hand slowly wander over the curves of her waist and hips.

Twenty minutes later, she was asleep again … while I continued watching the movie. It was some old '40's "Chinatown" knockoff mystery; interesting enough to hold my attention, but nothing like the real "Chinatown" – a classic movie if ever there was one.

The clock on the wall now showed half past five … the muted light from the grey-tinted windows barely illuminating it. The rains that had started when Cuddy left earlier continued, turning the afternoon into one of those dreary Jersey days when the water just fell in a continual, slow shower. Not surprisingly, the street lamps had snapped on not too long before … barely making a dent in the available light outside.

I turned from glancing at the living room windows; splitting my attention between the movie, and Alison. She'd turned over in her sleep … facing me as we both still lay on our sides. Her face burrowed against my chest … her even breaths tickling my skin through the shirt I wore. My hand wandered between her back, waist, and hips … the contact sensual and warm.

My arm … the one that supported her head … was growing numb, so I adjusted my position – laying on my back, and settling her on top of me. She was so small, so tiny … I hardly felt her weight at all. In her sleep, she'd moved her head to the side of mine … her breath now tickling my cheek and neck, while her hands rested on my shoulders. Her legs, now settled between mine, were unmoving. From our new arrangement of bodies, I could now concentrate on her back--running my fingers slowly and gently up and down either side of her spine.

I must have dozed off at some point … because the next time I opened my eyes, it was darker in the room, the TV had been turned off … and I could feel her fingers slowly gliding over the close-cropped hair on my head. She was still lying on top of me, and now I could feel her hair brushing both sides of my neck as she moved her hands.

"You're awake", she said … watching her fingers explore, not meeting my eyes.

"and you're beautiful", I murmured. She smiled.

"Thank you, handsome." She sighed, giving her head a little shake. "Why did we take so long to get here?" I gave her a shrug.

"There were … other things. Other people. We didn't try to get to really know each other, which is more my fault than yours. In the confrontational atmosphere House generates around him, we … just slid into the roles he expected---always challenge, dismiss; demean when necessary … until we got to the 'truth' of the diagnosis. Problem is; that kind of thing plays hell with relationships."

She'd raised her head, watching me as I spoke … and now, she nodded in agreement. "And, of course; there was my thing about House, and the fact that Chase has a thing for me …"

I nodded. "Don't get mad at me, but … when we first met, and for those first few months … I thought we were about as different as two people could be. I figured that was a part of House's plan for his team; divergent personalities that continually fought against each other. Over time, though … I started seeing more and more things I had in common with you, than I did with Chase; or House, for that matter."

"Me, too …" she added. "And I always admired the way that you fought House when you needed to; even from the beginning. I thought you were … fearless, and brave, and so confident. Pissed me off at times." I snorted.

"You thought – think – I'm arrogant at times."

We held each other's eyes. "Yes, I do. But; I figured that it was something you needed, to be good at what you do—just like the rest of us. Arrogance comes in different forms and flavors; Chase, Wilson, Cuddy … and, God knows, House … we're all arrogant in certain ways. So am I. It's mostly because we always want to be right. And you, dear heart … are right so often, it's scary. It's one of the things I love about you."

"Really?"

"Really. I learn a lot from all of you … but mostly House, Cuddy, and you."

"Well, it goes both ways. Remember what I told you, when you asked me why I picked you as my proxy?"

"Yes…"

"Well … I meant every word; and what's more, I feel that way about you with more patients than I let on. Everyone has to find their own way, their own best formula for what works best for them as doctors. House has his way; Wilson his, Cuddy has her own, too. We – the three of us – are still figuring that out for ourselves. I had no right to judge your way; I'm sorry."

She tilted her head slightly to one side, still watching me. "You keep apologizing to me."

"That's because I have a lot to apologize for; and I don't think I've apologized enough," I told her.

"I know, and that's sweet … but Eric, we need to move past it; if we're going to have a real chance at a relationship. We're friends—_very _close friends, but … now, there's now so much more between us. That's where I want to be; exploring and enjoying all of that--with you. My brother's always telling me to look towards the future, and try not to stay too long in the past."

She paused … intently studying me for a moment.

"I'm not sure what he's going to think about you."

I pretended to be surprised. "Who, me? I'm a pussycat, everyone's busom buddy; one minute around me, and he'll be naming one of your nephews after me!" She giggled, shaking her head.

"Maybe; in that brilliant yet twisted mind of yours, sweetie. The reality of it is; I'm his little sister. _No_ one's going to measure up to his expectations. I don't know; you two may just have to fight a _duel_ or something …" Her eyes were twinkling with laughter.

"Swell … now I gotta fight a Navy SEAL-slash-spy! You're lucky you're worth it; even if I end up back in the hospital!"

She gave my chest a slap. "He's NOT a SEAL--or a spy! Well, I don't _think_ he is …" she considered … while my eyes grew wider.

"_Not_ helping, Alison!" She shrugged, laughing. "I'm sorry; just thinking about those first meetings with you and my dysfunctional, insane family …"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You've got some long-range plans; I can see them in your eyes! What are you cooking up, you … scary, evil woman!"

Lowering her mouth to my ear, she whispered, "stick around, and you'll find out soon enough …"

And then … she kissed my ear, tracing the outside of it with her lips. It drove me crazy; how did she discover that spot so quickly? Not that it mattered all that much; she was taking full advantage of it at that moment.

Suddenly, her lips left the spot where they were doing fantastic things … and her weight left my body, as she climbed off of me; standing by the couch with an impish look on her face.

I sat there; a little stunned at the turn of events … while she used her hands and fingers to arrange her hair. "You look a little flushed, there, sweet—I mean, um, sweetie," she said, correcting herself when she saw my eyes narrow. "Would you like some iced tea?" She turned, grinning at me over her shoulder … when I sharply spoke out.

"Stop! Alison—where are your socks?" She was barefoot; not a good idea for someone with a cold. Cuddy would string me up if she saw this. She looked down at her feet, shrugging. "I don't know; I guess I left them in the other room. I'm fine; why?"

"Alison … I don't have carpeting throughout my place. You shouldn't put bare feet on cold tile when you have a cold; don't move."

I stood quickly, heading back to my bedroom. "Eric--what are you …" she called after me.

"Just stay right there--don't move." I'd reached my dresser; opening the bottom drawer, I rooted around until I found what I was looking for; thick, woolen socks that made great foot coverings to lounge around, or sleep in. Gathering them up, I closed the door and walked back to where she still stood; her hands on her hips. I kneeled down in front of her, and tapped one of her bare feet.

"Raise …" I commanded. She sighed, putting a hand on my shoulder for support as she held one foot up in the air. I slipped one sock on, and then nodded at the other foot. Shifting balance, she held that one up for me, too. Once I'd slipped both socks on, tucking them underneath her pajamas … she removed her hand from my shoulder as I stood.

Watching her flex her toes inside the socks, I admonished her. "No walking around barefoot until your cold's gone—ok?"

She looked up at me … smiling as she gave me a nod. "They feel wonderful; thanks." Her eyes were so large, filled with such a loving look … I could feel myself falling right into them.

Cupping her face in both my hands, I kissed her deeply. "I want you to be OK; I …"

She kissed me back. "I know." Taking my hand, she led me into the kitchen with her. I paused at the entrance, just watching her as she got two clean glasses from the cabinet, put ice from the freezer into both of them ... and then filled them with iced tea; handing one to me.

"Are you hungry?" We both took sips of the cold, refreshing tea, as I nodded.

"Me, too; I guess my appetite's come back. What would you like for dinner, sweetie?" She opened the refrigerator again, looking around inside.

"Hmm … something with noodles, I think. We could just order out …" She shook her head.

"No … I'm feeling so much better, and I want to make dinner for us. Noodles sound good to me, too. How about a casserole—tuna, with vegetables? It'll be a while before it's ready, but…" I waved that concern away.

"That sounds really good. Want some help?"

"Not this time, honey. You've been feeding me … practically single-handedly, ever since we got home; it's my turn now. Gotta start earning my keep; and cook for my man!" I chuckled.

"So … since you've got dinner covered, what do you want to do tonight? Watch some more TV, or maybe a DVD?"

"What kind of movies do you have? Never mind; you pick something, and we'll watch it."

"Are you sure? You don't know much about my taste in movies."

"Is it anything like House's 'red-light' collection?" My eyes widened at hearuing that from her.

"Of course not, Alison!"

"Well, then … I trust you. Now go … and we will speak no more of this. My path is yours, my Lord. Please--take you hence to thy couch, and I will tend to our evening meal. When I have returned to your side, we will watch your selection 'till the morrow; if the Fates ordain."

Her sudden slip into Old English floored me; I was amazed at how the words seemed to flow from her, without any effort. Yet another talent she had, that I didn't know about. She paused in gathering the things she'd need to make the casserole, and glided over to where I stood gawking at her … her palm coming to rest on my cheek. Looking up into my eyes, she continued speaking in a near whisper.

"… save thou thy labors and worries … and come thou no more for talk, gentle and strong Eric; you who carry my heart in yours. Your closeness, while always pleasing to me … is _most_ distracting at the moment. If we are to eat a satisfactory meal this night, you must grant me some small space in which to breathe. Go you now," she finished … gently pushing me out of the kitchen with a smile.

"As you wish, Your Grace," was all I could manage to say … amazed by her.

We exchanged a smile, and then I turned to the shelves of movies and DVDs I had in my entertainment center. Like everyone else, I'd been replacing my tapes with DVDs whenever I could … and hanging onto favorite movies I couldn't yet find in the newer format—or couldn't quite afford just yet.

Thinking about the playful, contemplative mood Alison seemed to be in, I decided on a recent favorite; "Van Helsing", with Hugh Jackman and Kate Beckinsale. I was sure Alison would enjoy the "historical" aspect of the plot (and the underlying love story); it was the violence and graphic nature of some of the scenes that made me pause.

I paused in thought; it was time I stopped treating her like a naïve, soft girl. House made _that_ mistake every day, and I'd fallen into that trap as well. It was a habit that I needed to break; and there was no time like the present. If she really didn't enjoy the movie; we'd stop and find something else.

I pulled the disk from its' case, and put it in the DVD player … ready to play, when she was. Meanwhile, I decided to watch some news, and wander a bit around the channels. After a few minutes of the depressing news stories, I flipped channels … looking for what, I wasn't sure. Listening to her bustle around in my kitchen made me grin; it definitely sounded like she was making herself at home … which was great.

Alison put on a large pot of water to boil for the noodles, and then preheated the oven. Pulling out a large glass-baking dish, (she was amazed that Eric seemed to have every container needed to cook almost anything) she sprayed it with nonstick cooking spray and set it aside. Collecting two cans of tuna, a couple of cans of mixed vegetables, and a can of cream of mushroom soup, along with bread crumbs she'd watched Eric buy at the store the other day, she proceeded to open and drain the tuna … mashing it with a fork into smaller pieces in a large bowl. Moving back to the fridge and opening it, she had to move the beer aside to find the carton of milk she needed. Adding the vegetables, soup, and a cup of milk, she mixed everything a few times with a large wooden spoon while the noodles continued cooking. She then pulled them from the stovetop a couple of minutes early; knowing they'd finish cooking in the oven while they baked. Draining the pot through a strainer of all excess water, she added the hot soft noodles to the mixing bowl, along with some tarragon spice she found in his spice rack. Mixing the bowl vigorously several more times, she then spooned the mix into the prepared dish … sprinkling the breadcrumbs on top, and then finishing the casserole by brushing the top with some extra virgin olive oil.

Sliding the disk into the oven, she wiped her hands, and then started rinsing the bowl, spoon, and forks she used in the preparation … getting everything ready for the dishwasher later. She shook her head; how did this guy luck out on a dishwasher—when she couldn't find a decent apartment in her price range with one? Cleaning up the rest of the area she'd worked in, she refilled her glass of tea, checked the timer on the oven (set for 35 minutes), and then padded into the living room … wriggling her toes inside the incredibly comfortable socks he'd given her.

Eric sat in his recliner … his sweats-covered legs stretched out in front of him, with the remote in one hand and his glass of tea sitting on the coffee table by one of his legs, within reach. She watched him with a smile as he looked up at her, returning her smile with one of his own … watching her settle on the side of the couch closest to his chair, before he turned back to the TV.

"Everything all set?" he asked her, taking a sip of tea.

"Yep," she replied … "another 40 minutes or so". He nodded.

"What are we watching?" Glancing over at her, he saw she'd settled into what he thought was her favorite position; legs tucked underneath her, with the comforter spread out in her lap. She held her head propped up with one hand on the arm of the couch … the soft light from the side table lamp reflecting off her brunette hair. She looked the same as she always did; but, in many ways, he'd never seen her look this way before. She looked very relaxed; the excess color in her cheeks from her cold seeming to have faded away, leaving her porcelain complexion behind.

Her attention was focused entirely on his face, waiting for his reply. He never got tired of looking at her; she's an incredibly beautiful woman, but what drew him the most was the look in her eyes, whenever she looked at him.

He'd seen many things, many emotions, in her eyes before; disgust, excitement, laughter, affection, intelligence, fear … and, recently; hatred. For him.

Until that moment, he'd never realized how the sight of that in her eyes had truly shaken him, to his core. He hoped he never saw, or caused, that emotion to appear on her face again.

"Eric?"

He shook himself; shoot, he'd been staring, drifting off in his one-way conversation again. She probably thought he was having a residual flashback from the brain infection.

"Sorry, dear; I was just … thinking." She grinned at him, her eyes filled with deep affection.

"What have I told you about hurting yourself?" He sent a glare her way, only to be answered with a deep laugh.

It wasn't quite THAT laugh … but one of its' younger cousins. He rotated the chair around slightly to see her better without twisting his neck into a pretzel.

"Ha, ha … you're _so_ funny. You're lucky I like you so much." She nodded, a serious look appearing on her face all of a sudden.

"Yes … I am," she said. Then she reached out a hand to me, and I took it in mine … gently squeezing her delicate, tiny fingers in mine. We were sitting close enough that neither of us had to stretch at all towards the other.

We grinned at each other. "This is … just some documentary on Korean history I came across on the public TV channel. I thought it'd be interesting; until the casserole was ready, and we could start the movie."

"Korean history? As in—like, the Korean war?" She was idly rubbing my fingers in hers as she spoke.

I shook my head, pointing a chin at the screen. "No … this goes back farther than that. What's now Korea was once one of the most powerful civilizations in the Far East, before the time of Christ." The narrator was describing incredibly beautiful sculptures, pottery items, and other products of the "Koryo" dynasty shown in a modern Seoul museum. Tapestries, silk costumes and garments, writing tools and parchments, ancient military uniforms and weapons … everything shown looked fascinatingly old, and incredibly beautiful.

"I had no idea you were interested in things like this," she whispered.

"I love history, Alison; always have; especially ancient civilizations, like the ones in the Far East. Oriental stuff's always … drawn me in, for some reason. That's probably one reason I took up karate in college. Dad tells me I told my parents I wanted to be an archeologist when I was five." She smiled.

"Frightfully intelligent and curious; even back then—wait; you study karate?" she exclaimed.

"Yes … I mean, I had lots of other interests, too; sports, astronomy, sailing ships …"

"…girls …" she whispered, chuckling.

"Have you been talking to my Mom?" Alison laughed.

"She knew you were a handsome heartbreaker, and wanted to teach you how to control your animal magnetism to use it for good; not evil!" She was shaking her head, 'tsk-ing' up a storm.

I laid my head back on the headrest of the recliner. "Are you _quite_ finished yet with your teasing?"

"Nope … but I'll let you talk for a while; tell me more about the karate."

"_That'll _be a switch …" I muttered under my breath … forgetting once again her bat-like hearing.

"Hey! Watch it, mister!" She squeezed my hand … chuckling with me.

"Well … you must have seen my 'jiri' in the closet?" She nodded, curiosity written all over her face. She'd seen it; but hadn't asked about it, even though I knew her curiosity must've been stoked by it. "I started it in college, after I'd regained control of my weight. At the beginning, I wanted to learn how to defend myself if I had to. Once I got into the mental side of it, though … I got hooked. I had much better focus and concentration in class; I felt great, physically … and my sensei loved Oriental history as well. We had many long, fascinating talks about the subject, and about karate."

"Do you still study it?" I nodded.

"Whenever I can. It's also one of my 'House' stress relievers. I haven't been at the dojo in about six weeks; I really miss it."

"Can I come with you; the next time you go?" she hesitatingly asked.

I looked over at her. "Really? You want to come?"

"Yes; I do. It sounds really interesting, when you talk about it … and I want to get to know you better, through your interests."

"You know me pretty well, girl." She shook her head.

"I didn't know you're a great cook; or take karate, or are interested in Oriental cultures … I feel like I'm just starting to _get_ to know you, Eric, honey."

I nodded. "I feel that way sometimes with you, too. You're always welcome to come with me anytime, baby; just know that I had to leave the last two lessons early--because of the case we had at that moment."

She was in the middle of a shrug, when my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Tony … what's going on?" I put my hand over the speaker, and looked at Alison. "Speak of the devil; this is a friend of mine from the dojo." She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know, man … you know how it is with me; work and everything. Well, I was sick recently, too—whoa, hang on, man; I _know_ I just kinda dropped off the face for a while, there … but I was fighting for my _life_, man! Yeah, it was _that_ bad for a while. I contracted a parasite in my brain, from this cop that came in … no—not a worm, more like a bug. Yep—all gone now. I just got out of the hospital a couple of days ago. Yeah, my team helped save me; well, one in particular; Dr. Cameron. Yes, that's the one--what? Yeah, she's dating someone, man … not that I'd ever introduce her to a reprobate like you, anyway! We doctors try to stay as clean as possible, you know!"

I could feel Alison's look--and her surprise--through our joined hands. "Ouch!! No, man … wish I could grab a beer, but I'm busy tonight. No, I'm here at home—off from work for a week, at least. I have a friend over … who? The doctor you'll never get to try to run your game on, that's who! Yeah. Well, she'll be coming with me when I come back to the dojo, so you can try to impress her then. Just remember—she has access to about 10,000 drugs that can get you off of her back, if you don't behave!" Alison started laughing. "Yes, that's her. See what I mean?--she's never met you, and _she's_ laughing at you! Naw, man … what's _cruel_, is you and your _way_ with women. Why is it that your 'way' always seems to involve a _restraining order, _at some point?" Alison was rolling on the couch, laughing so hard she let go of my hand.

"Listen, man … thanks for calling. I appreciate it. We'll definitely hook up soon, Tony; just let me get back on my feet—constantly ridiculing you is taxing work! Maybe I'll even let you meet Alison sometime. Well, I wouldn't be here talking to you, if it wasn't for her. That's right—seriously. Yeah. Hey—tell Sensei I'll call him in a day or two; OK? All right, dude—later. Thanks again, Tony. See ya—bye."

I hung up the phone, and looked over at Alison. She'd finally stopped laughing …taking the hand I was holding out to her with a smile. "Friend of yours?" she asked … smirking.

"Tony. I met him when I started at the dojo about eight months ago. The guy's a total trip; always joking around. He's a good man—works for some gaming company as a programmer. He's even tinier than you are--but he can kick like a mule. You'll no doubt meet him when we go to the dojo—he'll be on the lookout for you; trust me. He thinks of himself as a 'ladies man,' unfortunately."

"You told him I was seeing someone", she smiled at me.

"Yeah; I knew he'd catch on, without me having to spell it out. He's a sharp guy, and he's heard me talk about you before."

"Huh … giving me a reputation out there on the mean streets of Princeton, my Lord?" She quirked an eyebrow at me, making me laugh.

"Just bragging about working with the most beautiful woman in the world, that's all."

Before she could answer, the timer bell from the oven went off. Getting up, she came over to me, leaning down to give me a kiss. I started to get up, myself, so that I could help with the food … but she pushed me back down. "Stay; and, thank you, darling. Be right back." She grabbed both our glasses, and headed into the kitchen. I heard the oven door open, and the most incredible aromas floated out to reach my nose. "Alison, honey … that smells great!" I called to her.

"Mucho gracias, senor!" she called back. I heard dishes clanking, silverware pulled out of the drawers, and then the sounds of food being plated. Ice tinkled in glasses; and more tea poured. She came out then … carrying one plate carefully in one hand, with a full glass of tea in the other.

"This is yours, sweetie … don't try it just yet; let it cool for a couple of minutes. It's still very hot." Placing the food on the coffee table, she went back to the kitchen for hers.

When she'd returned with her plate and glass, I'd moved from the recliner to the couch … having moved the comforter she'd been using off to one end of the couch, so it wouldn't be in our way. I carefully took the plate from her while she sat next to me, and set it down on the table next to mine to cool.

"So", she began. "What movie did you settle on?"

I'd given the selection some thought: wondering if we had anything close to similar tastes in movies. I liked the typical 'guy' movies—anything with explosions and car chases, or with decent action sequences … but I also liked well-done historical pieces, and movies that had any of my favorite actors in them. So, I could equally enjoy a movie like "Glory", about a regiment of men during the Civil War … as much as I enjoy any of the "Matrix" films.

I thought "Van Helsing" would be a good balance. At least, I could find out about her preferences, for the future.

And, here I was … thinking of her, her preferences, and the future … all at the same time.

Wow.

Putting off the inner dialogue with myself, I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. "Have you ever seen a movie called "Van Helsing?"

She looked at me … thinking. "I've … heard of—wait! Is that the one about vampires and monsters? _Ericcc_ … what are you trying to do—scare this cold out of me?" I held up a hand.

"Hold your horses, Ms. 'Scaredy Cat!' First—it's not as scary as you think. Second—it has Hugh Jackman. Third—it has Kate Beckinsale. Fourth—did I mention Kate Beckinsale--carrying a sword?" Alison did something I didn't think was possible: she gave me a deadly glare, AND laughed … at the same time. "If this is really just so you can watch some half-dressed woman cavorting all over the scr—" I kissed her, before she could fully launch into her rant.

When I finally released her lips from mine, she sat there … her eyes closed, whispering … "_not_ a scaredy cat …" Then she wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me back … reluctantly releasing me after a few minutes.

She didn't meet my eyes; she just studied my lips, as her fingers caressed my cheeks. I felt her racing breath on my skin, and saw my own move her hair a little. I reached up to move her hair behind both of her dainty ears … the movements of my fingers drawing her eyes closed. I closed the distance between our faces, gently kissing her closed eyelids, followed by the bridge of her nose … before moving to her chin, and then her graceful neck.

"Oh …" she whispered, smiling … her eyes still closed. Tilting her head to give me more access, I placed a kiss on the hollow of her neck, where her shoulders and chest began. Groaning, she held my face there, kissing my forehead in reply.

We leaned against the back of the couch with our arms wrapped around each other … my head now resting on her shoulder.

"Eric?"

"Mmm?"

"Don't be thinking you can … _distract_ me like this, all of the time. It won't work. Well—maybe 99 of the time, it'll work, but not _all_ of the time…" I was laughing by the end of her little statement; and she joined me—after first trying and failing to glare me into silence.

"I know, hon … and the same goes for _you_, too."

"Who, _me_?" I rolled my eyes at the innocence she tried to inject into her voice.

"Yes, you, you … smart-aleck! You _know_ what you do to me with those kisses of yours – and don't try to deny it!"

She gave an expressive shrug. "I'm sure that I don't have the _slightest_ idea what you're talking about. Are you feeling well, sweetie? Because maybe you're hallucinating or something …" She tried to feel the temperature of my forehead, and I pushed her hand aside. Her words and actions ruined by the twinkle in her eyes, we both burst out laughing a second later.

"God, I can't remember when I've laughed so much, or had so much fun …" she told me, shaking her head. "Thanks for inviting me to stay, Eric … I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

"You're welcome, Alison. I love you being here with me. It would have felt … wrong, somehow … if you weren't."

We stared in each other's eyes for several moments, before breaking eye contact … smiling at each other.

"We should eat, and watch the movie. Ready?" I asked her. She turned partly away from me, so that our shoulders were now touching as we both reached for our plates of food. Picking up my fork and bringing some of the casserole to my mouth, I nodded happily at the tastes. She'd gotten the noodles just right--soft, and buttery. The tuna and mushrooms were perfectly sharing their flavors with the vegetables, and I could taste the tarragon she'd added for spice. All of it in a nice creamy sauce, mixed with the crunchy bread crumbs.

She was watching me. "Like it?" I turned to her, nodding some more as I forked another few morsels into my mouth. "Thisisgreammtt…" She beamed at me, handing me my tea.

"Slow down there, Speed Racer", she giggled … repeating my words from earlier in the day. I cocked an eyebrow at her. We then adjusted ourselves to watch the movie and eat comfortably at the same time; I moved my tea to the side table, we placed our plates in our laps … stretching out our legs on the coffee table in front of us. I grabbed the remote, and pressed "Play" for the DVD player.

She seemed to enjoy the movie almost from the beginning, even while Hugh Jackman's Van Helsing fought "Mr. Hyde". She laughed at the antics of the young monk/scientist the Catholic Church's leaders sent with Van Helsing to Transylvania, and smiled when Jackman and Beckinsale's characters first meet, before an incredible open-air battle with three female vampires.

We were halfway through the movie, when she whispered to me … "They're falling for each other."

"Yes, they are--surprised?"

"No", she whispered back. "They're both … damaged, but they see the possibilities for healing in each other", she continued. I was shocked; that's exactly what _I'd_ thought, the first time I'd seen the movie.

"You don't think so?" She was watching me. I kept my eyes on the screen, hoping she wouldn't see the surprise in my eyes.

"Yes, I do … it's just—I thought the same thing, too …" For two people who'd spent most of their time disagreeing over medical diagnosis … we were becoming amazingly alike in our recent thinking. I wondered at that, and not for the first time. Alison just nodded beside me, as if the fact that we'd suddenly become almost of one mind didn't faze her in the least.

The characters—most of them—now went into the "major conflicts/plot revealing" portion of any movie, with the two leads drawing ever closer and closer. When Van Helsing's bitten by a werewolf, putting a little bit of a timetable on their attempt to defeat Dracula for good … Alison gasped. She'd snuggled closer to me, laying an arm across me as I draped one of mine across her lap.

The final, climactic battle … which ended with Van Helsing—having turned fully into a werewolf, allowing him to permanently kill Dracula, as well as all of his minions—accidentally killing the Princess at the same time she managed to inject him with the antidote … caused Alison to sit up, studying the screen with the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

It was a very emotional scene, with Jackman as Van Helsing holding the dead body of the Princess in his arms, bawling in despair and tears … having reverted back to human form, once the antidote took effect; with the young monk standing a few feet away … his face a study in grief and sorrow.

The scene left Alison crying as well … wiping her wet face with the sleeves of her scrubs. I held her close, not saying anything … as she let go of her own emotions.

Her tears weren't ending, though. The final scenes of the movie, as Van Helsing and the monk say farewell to the Princess, praying over her body before putting the torch to it, were just too much for her. When the spirit of the Princess left her body, then appeared to Van Helsing in the sunbeams of the cloudy sky … Alison watched, rapt with fascination. The final looks, and smile, shared between the tragic pair … before she (now reunited with her dead family) disappeared from his sight for good; brought back her tears.

She whispered one tiny, drawn-out, quiet word as she watched: "Ohhhh …"

One of the final scenes was the look on Van Helsing's face, as he watched her leave him forever; the look of someone whose sin was forgiven; and who could go on, because of that forgiveness … was powerful; and, I could tell, affected Alison deeply. Her face, tears streaming down, never left the screen as the end of the movie played out. Even before the final credits rolled, she took the remote and sent the disk rewinding back to those ending scenes. I wondered why she wanted to see them again; but I didn't speak.

We watched the last ten minutes or so, again … Alison's eyes once again never leaving the screen. After the second time, she turned the sound down, and then sat back on the couch next to me … wiping the rest of the tears from her face.

We were quiet for several minutes. I could tell she was thinking about something, and I knew she wanted to talk about it. So, I waited.

"Why did you pick this particular movie?" she finally spoke, asking me the question in a very quiet voice.

I shrugged. "I'm not—I didn't have a specific reason; I just thought you'd like it. You did, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did … I'm just wondering if you had a reason for showing it to me," she answered. I tried to look in her face, but she hadn't turned in my direction at all, since the movie ended.

"Alison … what's wrong?" She was quiet for a moment.

"He killed her; accidentally, but he killed her." I was puzzled at where she was going, but decided to let her explain at her own pace.

"Yes, he did".

"And then, while he was wracked with guilt over her death and his part in it … she appears to him, and – forgives him."

"Yes".

She suddenly, finally, turns to look at me.

"If you … if you'd died, or if you hadn't made it through the biopsy, the one_ I_ ordered …" I started shaking my head at the direction she was heading towards; or, at least the one I _thought_ she was moving in.

"_Alison …_" She put a finger on my lips.

"If you'd _died_, Eric--would you have tried to … come back, somehow, and tell me I shouldn't blame myself?"

Her voice was like liquid hydrogen; frozen, still, and brittle. I stared at her, swallowing a couple of times … before nodding.

"Yes—if I could, and if I saw how much you were suffering, like he was … yes, I would have done anything I could to let you know that it wasn't your fault; that I didn't blame you."

Her eyes held mine in a powerful grip, as I felt her explore my psyche … completely open to her examination. I'd never felt so vulnerable around a woman before. The sensation wasn't entirely … pleasant, even though it was Alison. As hard as it was to hold her eyes, though; I couldn't face not being strong enough to face them. She was wrestling with something from our shared traumatic experience; something I needed to help her with, if she were to move past it. I saw it in her eyes, and wondered why I hadn't seen it there before.

I watched as she struggled to speak, finally managing to continue. "I don't think … I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have gotten through it—if you hadn't made it, Eric. I know you think I would have, because you think I'm strong, but …" she paused, shaking her head. "And if you'd come to me, afterward … I would have thought I'd lost my mind. I'm sorry …"

"Alison …" I asked her, "why are you doing this to yourself?" I took her hands in mine, trying to calm her.

"Because I think … right before we put you under for the biopsy, is when I started realizing that I … might have feelings for you, more than as just friends … or whatever we were at that moment. I almost waited too long, Eric; I told House that I needed to start the procedure, yeah … but then, I _hesitated_. That…realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and I didn't think I could continue as your proxy because of it; but then, House—he pleaded with me for another hour, while he went back to the cop's place to try to find the answer. So, I—held onto that, like a life preserver … because I wasn't sure if I could order the procedure to continue. I _hated_ myself for my indecision; and House, for his dammed confidence that _he_ could still solve it; even at that point … I …" she stopped, bursting into tears.

I couldn't say anything. Her anguish was like a physical thing, something she'd been wrestling with for days now … hiding her battle from her friends, her co-workers … and, from me. I couldn't imagine it; couldn't begin to try to understand what she'd gone through; or the things she'd been wrestling with, ever since.

I pulled her into my arms; wrapping her tight … holding her, while her pain finally released after she'd held onto it for so long. She bawled against me, her tiny body completely racked with sobs.

"I'm so sorry, Alison …" I tried to calm her, whispering and cooing to her as I rocked her in my arms. She clutched me, holding on for dear life … and I held her just as tight.

We stayed that way for several minutes, until her tears started to slow. I'd pulled her into my lap by then, continuing to rock her …gently brushing the tears from her face. She reached up to clutch my shirt in one hand, her head buried against my neck.

"I had no idea you'd gone through so much, because I asked you to be my proxy", I began, once I could tell she was listening. "But I still wouldn't change a thing about how things turned out, Alison—because I _knew_ you were the one; the right person, the best doctor, for what I needed. I trusted you, and I _still_ trust you. That will never change. We all reach places, moments, where we're not sure what we should do next; even House does—no matter how confident he may _seem_ at the time. Anyone would have experienced what you did, under the same circumstances. You're human, Alison, and yes … I would have come back to you; partly because, if you going on … and living your life meant forgiving you--then yes, I would have found a way back to give you that. But, Alison," I reached down to tilt her face up to mine, holding her eyes … "I would have come back … mostly to tell you how very much I'd miss you, until we were together again."

She gasped, her eyes tearing up again … clutching me even closer. I slowly shook my head, and said, "No--no more tears, love. You've been in enough pain … no more … let it go."

There weren't many more tears after that, but she did shiver in my arms for a time; not from being cold, but from the final release of those things she'd been keeping inside.

"You should have told me about this before," I whispered in her ear. She swallowed.

"I know; please don't be mad … we were having such a wonderful time together, I didn't want anything to spoil it. I was enjoying every single moment—even in spite of the thing with Cheryl at the restaurant—because I was with you. Even getting sick with this dumb cold was OK, because you've kept on showing every second how you feel about me, how much you care … I would have talked about it with you eventually, I promise; I guess the movie just opened the floodgates tonight. I thought maybe you'd been sensing some of what I'd been struggling with; and picked that movie to 'ask' me about it. We've been so in synch lately; I thought you'd figured things out." I slowly shook my head.

"I truly didn't realize what it was, exactly, that's been bothering you … but I knew something was there. I guess I was too afraid to ask; afraid that maybe things might change, between us."

She let out a big sigh. "We're not quite at the top of the list in the 'sharing' department as a couple just yet; are we?"

I chuckled at the wry tone in her teary voice. "Maybe not … but we're working on it—and we'll get better; I know we will."

"I know we will, too, love." She sniffled a little, and then yawned. I planned to send her to bed very soon; I had a feeling we'd both sleep very well tonight. I really wanted her to get every single second of sleep and rest she could get; even Supergirl needed a recharge every now and then.

"Let's see, then; one of our lessons tonight was the error of mixing a tuna casserole for dinner … with any movie starring Hugh Jackman or Kate Beckinsale—or, heaven forbid--_both_ of them," I started to speak in a lecturing tone, as Alison giggled.

"…or not thinking far enough ahead to get boozed up beforehand; in case we _really_ wanted to see the movie with that dish," she added, a glint of humor in her eyes, followed by a large smile. I solemnly nodded.

"Good point", I answered … laughing with her.

"It's a shame, though … that was some really good tuna casserole!"

"It sure was," I agreed. "I hope you'll make it again; under the proper circumstances, of course …" She giggled again.

I leaned back further on the couch, still cradling her in my arms.

"You must be getting tired of holding me, sweetheart," she said.

"Never," I told her. "I do need to make a pit-stop, though … be right back?"

She groaned, slowly untangling herself from the comfortable position we were presently in. "Sure—if you must."

"I think it would be best; that iced tea is doing the trick", I told her … getting a chuckle in reply.

By then, she'd stood … pulling me to my feet next to her. I gave her neck a slow brush with my lips, and then moved past her … heading towards the bathroom.

Once I'd returned to the living room, I could hear her in the kitchen taking care of the dishes … so I went to help. We stood at the sink, quickly getting into a rhythm of washing and rinsing everything we'd used for making dinner. Neither of us spoke … just glancing at each other with a smile every now and then.

I broke our comfortable silence first. "How are you feeling?" I asked.

She nodded. "Much, much better; thanks. Between you and Lisa, I'm just about back to normal."

"Normal?—you?" I teased her. She stopped wiping a fork, and gave me the 'double-raised eyebrow' look she usually reserved for House or Chase.

"Better button that lip, or else …" she growled. I chuckled a little bit—she was too close to the soapy water, to risk anything more than that.

"How about you? I noticed that you've been very careful and deliberate every time you've reached for a plate or glass; is your spatial recognition still off?"

"You've seen that, huh?" I wryly commented. I wasn't surprised; one of the things House teaches us is the power and usefulness of observation. Alison is as good, if not better… than Chase and I in that department. I immediately remembered the heart sound House played for us during a case on his MP3 player; she was the only one of us to hear the murmur he'd detected. Of course, she has exceptional hearing.

"I'm _still_ your doctor, hon—sick or not," she reminded me.

"Well … I think I've gotten better since coming home from the hospital; I haven't badly misjudged distances, or dropped anything yet. When we left the hospital, I estimated my perception was about 10 off; now, I'd say it's half that. I was worried about things like shaving, and cooking … but I haven't had to compensate much. I still don't feel ready to get behind the wheel of my car yet; driving's an entirely different set of reactions, and I can't risk it." She nodded, cleaning the last disk and handing it to me to dry.

"You don't have to; I'm very willing to handle the driving for us, until you're ready. Just—don't ask me to wear a chauffeur's uniform!" We laughed … then I leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"I think you'd look very sexy in it." She blushed … leaning against me with a small smile on her lips.

"Flatterer." I kissed the side of her head.

"What do you want to do now? It's still a little early; unless you're ready for bed …"

"No, not just yet. I mean, I'm getting there … but if I try to sleep now, I know I'd just lay there for a while. Feel like entertaining me a little while longer, or are you heading to bed?"

"Nope. Why don't we have some pie … and I'll make you some tea. We can sit and listen to some music, or just talk … whatever you feel like." We'd finished everything that needed doing in the kitchen, and now we just stood next to the sink, talking.

"Sounds like a plan, sweetie. Do you think we could have some hot chocolate, though? A rainy, cool night like tonight feels right for it—along with some Miles Davis, if you have any of his stuff." I put both of my hands on her shoulders.

"Are you kidding? Of course, I have Miles around here. I know the perfect song to start with, too …"

"'So What'?" she grinned up at me, sliding her arms around my waist.

I shook my head in amazement. "You read my mind."

"I'm quickly getting used to it," she quipped. "Only thing is; we've gotta mess up some more dishes, after cleaning everything up."

"No big deal," I said. "That's why God invented dishwashers."

"I thought He invented dishwashers because of lazy husbands!" She released me, heading to the cabinet where I kept my smaller dishes and plates to get something for the pie … while I went to another one to look for the hot chocolate.

"Watch it! One more crack about husbands, and _your_ ring will only be two carats—instead of three!"

She held up both hands in surrender; her eyes sparkling with humor and … something else I couldn't quite identify …after getting out two small plates and two forks …along with one of my flat utensils for pies, cakes, and other goodies. She leaned against the counter; watching me pull out a couple of mugs, the tin I used to keep chocolate in, and two spoons. From the fridge, I pulled out the milk container, along with a Zipper bag that I kept fresh vanilla in. Setting a pan on the stove, I poured enough milk for two in it, and set it to heat. Moving to the table, I used one of the spoons to scrape some vanilla bean from the stalks I had, and put equal amounts in the mugs.

"You're using … is that—fresh vanilla?" Once I'd started scraping, the kitchen filled with the aroma of the vanilla, along with the heating milk. "Sure is—it's the best. I have some vanilla powder around her somewhere--but I prefer using the fresh stuff for drinks. It just tastes better."

"I love it! We drank gallons of hot chocolate at home as I was growing up … I just love the aroma." She came over to where I sat; placing her hands on my shoulders, slowly kneading my skin underneath her fingers.

"Mmmmm…" I sighed in pleasure. "Feel good?" she asked. In answer, I leaned my head back … until I was resting against her flat stomach. I could feel her curves brush against me when she reached down to slide her hands along my chest … exploring as they went. When she reached the bottom of my shirt, she slowly pulled it up; slipping her hands underneath to touch my skin. I gave a quick intake of breath, while her fingers continued their magic.

"Your kids will be so lucky to have you as a father," she whispered in my ear … reluctantly withdrawing her hands from under my shirt … straightening up behind me. I got up from the chair to face her, as the milk slowly bubbled.

"They'll be doubly lucky, Alison …" I told her … stroking her cheek with a finger as she stared in my eyes, as her own grew large and bright with unshed tears. She continued standing there; watching me as I turned to carefully pick up the pan with a dishcloth … then bringing it over to our cups, slowly adding the hot milk in equal amounts. I could feel her eyes still on me as I finished, then moved back to the sink where I filled the pan with warm water and some dish detergent.

I returned to the table to place spoons in both mugs, and then took both of them to the living room … with Alison in tow. I carefully sat down on the couch … placing the mugs in the coasters I kept there; stirring both mugs with the spoons, as she sat down next to me—drawing up her slim legs underneath her.

We sat there together … waiting for the hot chocolate to cool a bit before drinking it. She laid her head on my shoulder … our plans for listening to some music put on hold for the moment. We were still; listening to the sounds of the apartment and the world outside … cars coming and going from the parking lot; an occasional voice and movement from the apartment above mine; and the wind, passing by the windows in occasional gusts.

Neither of us spoke for several minutes. It was one of those times when words weren't needed. The hot chocolate was slowly consumed in easy, slow-paced sips; its' relaxing aromas and heat filling both of us with a sense of contentment.

"Eric?" her quiet whisper came from beside me. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure".

"If you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand …"

"It's OK, baby; you can ask me anything".

"Well … why did Cheryl say those things today, at the restaurant? Does she really believe that people should stay with, and date, their 'own kind'?"

I sighed. "Guess she does, like most black women generally do." I was wondering when Alison would get around to what happened at the restaurant. "See … because there are so few good black men who are available, black women generally feel under pressure to find and keep them when they come across them. So, when I walk in with you--a white woman …" I left the rest of the thought unsaid.

"I … think I see … I was a 'threat' to her", she said.

"A threat, yeah; and someone who shouldn't even be wasting her time with a black man … since all you're obviously interested in, is the … 'physical' part of the relationship." She lifted her head from my shoulder to stare at me.

"That's what Cheryl thinks," I continued … watching the look of incredulity form on Alison's face. "You can't _possibly_ be with me because we care very much for each other; or because we have lots in common … or even because we might … love each other," I slowly added … watching her face. "It has to be because you're curious about sharing a bed with a black man—that _has_ to be it. Or--if I happen to be an athlete, making lots of money … that would be the _other_ rationale."

"My God…" she whispered, shaking her head. "Where does all that come from?" I shook my head.

"It comes from frustration at the scarcity of decent black men; or fear and insecurity over not feeling like they can compete with a white woman on an even 'playing field'; since you'd also be resented because chances are you've gotten more education, more opportunities … than she has."

"And … most black women feel that way? About interracial relationships, I mean."

"A good percentage do", I answered. "So, you can't take any of that personally, Alison—it really doesn't have anything to do with _you_, per se. You just represent something that … isn't natural, to them."

"You're saying … that you feel like something like this might happen again; with some other black woman we come across," she sighed.

"Probably. I'm sorry, but … yeah, I do. That won't be the only thing we face, either. Not everyone at the hospital will be happy for us. Or, some other people we'll likely encounter. It's just … something we'll have to deal with. It … might make it hard for us, sometimes, Alison … we just have to be prepared for it."

"…if we want 'us' to work," she finished my thought. I glanced at her … seeing the flow of emotions cross her face. I reached over and took her hand in mine.

"Listen to me, Alison. Please don't think that, because of what I just said … that I have doubts. I don't--not about you, and not about us. I … know how I feel about you--and I think I know how you feel about me. For me, that's the only important thing. Everything else revolves around it. Please believe that."

She turned to face me … gazing earnestly and openly in my eyes; taking my other hand in hers.

"I do, Eric. I see it in your eyes, whenever you look at me … ever since you woke up. Besides, you _know_ how I feel about you. I never expected it; or thought that it would be possible between us, at first; but it's happening to me. I've never been happier than I've been … since you came back. I may not know much about what we'll be facing … but, as long as you're there with me, I can deal with whatever comes. All I want … is to be with you, Eric."

We stared in each other's eyes for what seemed like forever. Alison's warm hands in mine felt like touching the contacts of a battery--every time we touched, I felt charged. Tonight, there in my apartment … we'd promised ourselves to the other.

No rings were exchanged; there was no priest or pastor smiling down at us, while we stood there in the company of family and friends. It wasn't like that, at all.

Despite all that, it was as real as any vow or promise we'd ever made before. It was there, in her eyes … and the look in them told me she saw the same thing in mine.

I let go of her hands, so that I could place mine on either side of her face; and as our lips came together in a deep, soul-satisfying kiss … I knew, finally, that I was truly awake. That not being with her, with Alison … was like being in a deep, cold sleep--unaware of the world around me.

I never wanted to be in that place again.

She moaned into my mouth, gently sucking on my lower lip … sliding her body closer, to press as much of it against mine as she could manage. I slipped a hand between the back of her pajamas and lower back, rubbing my thumb over her lower spine, and smiled when she let out a soft, quiet growl. We finally came up for air, breathing heavily … smiling at each other. She kissed my jaw, and I gathered her in my arms after first reaching over to hand her a mug of chocolate.

Leaning back against me, she asked, "Aren't you going to have any of your hot chocolate, baby?"

Sighing, I leaned my head back … still waiting for my breathing to come back under control.

"I'm … a little _too_ warmed up at the moment; I'll have some in a bit." She snickered, taking a sip from her mug.

"And what, pray tell, is so _funny_?" I demanded in a fake-offended voice. Holding onto her mug with both hands, as though she were using it to warm her hands (something I could testify wasn't necessary in the least), she sent a wicked grin in my direction.

"I didn't know I had that much of an effect on you, that's all. Me, a poor little immunologist … having such an effect on the big, karate-kicking neurologist--it boggles the mind!"

"So … it's your diagnosis that this is pretty much a one-way phenomenon, and couldn't be as … affecting … in the other direction?" I asked her in as neutral a voice as I could manage.

"Must be; that's what the symptoms are showing, at least…" she nodded in answer.

"Hmm …interesting. Mind if we do a little test, then?"

"What 'little' te—ooohhhhh …" I'd quickly leaned in, placing my lips on the spot of soft skin directly underneath her earlobe; kissing and gently swiping it with the tip of my tongue. She stiffened for a second, and then relaxed … somehow still holding the mug in her hands. I continued what I was doing with my mouth and tongue, as she occasionally let out soft moans.

"Mmmm … ohhhh, Eric … god, that's so … mmmmm, right there …" Opening my eyes a little, I saw that she'd closed hers; sitting as still as she could, while I continued what I was doing.

"Your skin is so soft, Alison honey … " I told her, whispering in her ear. She slowly smiled.

"thanks … you … got some lips, there, sweetie …" she sighed.

"I love kissing you", my uppermost thoughts came out in my voice.

"Well … that's good—mmmmmm, cause I love it when you're kissing or touching me, babe."

"So … kiss … it _is_ a two-way thing, huh; this effect we have on each other?" She let out a laugh.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at nights, dear." I stopped what I was doing, as she let out a protesting groan; giving me a look that clearly said, "Who told you to stop?" I was gaping at her.

"The cold's made you very 'snarky', love." She shrugged, taking another sip of the cooling hot chocolate.

"So? What's it to ya, pal?" I cocked my head at her sudden "Sopranos" turn … watching a small grin appear on her lips as she handed me my mug.

I was just about to reply, when there were three sharp knocks on the door. It sounded like someone was using some kind of stick-like object on the door … completely ignoring the prominent doorbell. I had a sinking suspicion of who it was, and glanced at Alison. Her face clouded over as she apparently came to the same conclusion.

"I know you're home—I can almost hear the jungle love from out here!"

Two more sharp knocks came, as Alison and I looked at each other.

"We could just ignore it," she suggested without any real certainty it would work.

"This is House we're talking about; he'd just keep going, or bother my neighbors … until we answered the door."

"Ah, hell …" she sighed in frustration. I put my mug down, slowly getting up from the couch … and went over to the door. I looked back at her, shrugging apologetically as I opened the door.

Another single knock came, before I could get the door open. House stood there in his motorcycle jacket, wet from the rains … glancing between Alison, and me … while I glared at him.

"It's customary for the lady of the house to come to the door and admit guests. Where are your manners?" he started right in on us.

"What do you want, House?" I ground out in frustration. "Didn't you hear Cuddy? You were to leave both of us alone; we're off duty, and you were only to contact us in … wait for it … an _emergency_! Should I call her now to confirm her instructions with you?"

"No need; I'm here on orders from 'Her Majestic breasts' herself; she apparently thought bringing our little immunologist some streptomycin, required me to risk life and limb driving on the mean, wet streets of Princeton." House said, pushing past me into the apartment. I reluctantly closed the door; not wanting Alison to be in the middle of any drafts from the outside. House carelessly threw a package from the hospital pharmacy onto the coffee table, and walked over to stand over Alison … studying her like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"Well, isn't _this _cozy; sleeping dress in sweats and cool medical-related pajamas, cups of what look like hot chocolate–-how appropriate, considering who's place this is—a romantic lighting arrangement … and a serious blush on our young ingénue's face! My word; _what_ have I stumbled into here, I wonder? Where's the bedroom, Foreman … that _is_ your next step, isn't it?"

Alison leaped to her feet. "Shut up, House! You've delivered the prescription—now, you can leave!"

"Whoa, whoa … can't a boss brutha check up on two-thirds of his homies? I've _so _missed our little chats in the Diagnostics offices, and Cuddy's seen fit to go out of her way to **not** find me interesting little puzzles to work on … so I've just been in a _tizzy_! And, when I heard", he went on in a fake-compassionate voice, "that our little Alison was coming down with a bug herself; well … I _knew_ I just had to help!" He wiped imaginary tears away from his eyes, while Alison and I both rolled ours.

I'd had enough. It was different, when it was the offices, or some other place where he could exert his authority; but not here. I went over to him, drawing his attention away from Alison.

"House … we're going to be as civil as we can, since you've been here five minutes already--without asking either one of us how we're doing. We're both doing pretty well, by the way … in case Cuddy, Wilson, or Chase asks. Now, listen. This is _my_ apartment. _ I_ control this environment--not you. You've dropped off Cuddy's prescription for Alison; great. Thanks for bringing it by. Now, it's getting late … and I'm sure your leg's bothering you after your day in the clinic, so … please leave—now."

My voice had grown quieter as I spoke, and something in it apparently got his attention; because he looked at me for a moment, then over at Alison, who was still glaring at him … and then back at me.

"Hey; I was just playing around. I really did want to see how you two were doing. Don't get your panties in a twist, Foreman; and don't make the mistake of assuming Cuddy's care and concern will blanket everything. This is your place, true … but you and Cameron still work for _me_; you should remember that."

"That doesn't give you the right to drop by whenever you want, House. _Normal_ people call before coming by. _Normal_ people ask how sick people are doing, instead of what you've been saying since you got here. And _normal_ people don't use this visit to observe and 'profile' Alison and I; which is what part of you is doing, at this moment. Don't try to deny it; we both know how you work. You're curious about what's going on--whether it's any of your business, or not. You place too much value on working for you, House; _you_ should remember _that_."

Caught between our glares, House seemed to realize even he may have gone too far … looking between the two of us, then glancing down at his feet. We didn't expect any sort of an apology from him; this was House, after all.

"Cameron, I hope you're back on Monday—assuming you're feeling better by then. Foreman, Cuddy's probably going to schedule your medical board review for next Friday; in case you were wondering. Of course, as his doctor, you'll be required to attend, too, Cameron." Giving a small nod, he turned and headed back to the front door.

I glanced at Alison; she gave me a tiny shrug, and then I walked behind House, as he got ready to leave.

"House", Alison called to him. We both turned back to look at her.

"Thanks … for bringing the medicine, and for checking up on us. I'll see you on Monday." She sent me a tiny look; I almost rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, House—thanks. For, you know … letting us know about the board meeting." House shrugged, and then zipped his jacket up against the cold of the night.

"No sweat; you seem like you're recovering OK … it'll be a formality with a few stuffed shirts—and one stuffed blouse worn by our Dean of Medicine."

This time, I did roll my eyes.

He limped through the door I held open for him, never looking back once as I watched him go. When he'd gotten back on his bike, and motored off … I closed and locked the door, looking over at Alison.

She blew out a large breath. "Well, _that_ was fun", she quipped.

"Yep-like a prostate exam's fun." We laughed.

She sat back down … waving me over to sit next to her. "Come over here—you need to tap into your 'chi', or whatever it is you kung fu types tap into to regain your balance. I can still see the steam rising from your ears, honey … come on."

I let go of a heavy sigh, nodding as I went back to her. She'd sat back down in the corner of the couch, and I settled into her waiting arms; lounging against her in comfort. Her hands immediately went to work; massaging my temples and the top of my head, she drew small circles with her fingers … relying on soft, light touches, rather than heavy massages to relax me.

I pulled my legs up onto the couch, trying my best to relax after House's visit. Alison didn't say anything; her ability to tap into my moods was getting easier and easier for her, it seemed. She already had an amazing sense of when words were needed, and when they weren't, between us.

I felt her kiss my head, and then her arms tightened around me.

"So—", she whispered, "how 'bout them Bulls, huh?"

I burst out laughing … knowing exactly what she was up to, and feeling her smile at her success in getting me out of my fast-developing dark mood.

"You're a nut, you know that?" I told her, chuckling.

"I guess you've just never dated a Bulls fanatic before—not to worry, I'll make you one of us in no time. It'll be painless; and afterwards, you'll be so grateful, you'll be thanking me forever!"

"More like paying for hundreds of tickets forever," I mock-groused.

She slapped my shoulder. "Hey—no one said you had to support my habit! I can pay my own way, thank you very much! And, if I get into trouble … there's always Mommy and Daddy—who were the ones who inducted me into the cul—I mean, _club_!"

We were laughing and teasing each other again; it felt so good … who knew that the best antidote to House was – Alison herself?

"Uh huh … well, I already know that we'll be seeing a Bulls-Knicks game as soon as we can get away; and, as part of my promise to you—the entire weekend's on me. It'll be worth it—just to see how you behave at the game!"

She sniffed in half-protest at the tone in my voice.

"Well … just so long as there aren't any video or audio recordings made of the weekend's festivities … you _may_ pay for everything."

"Oh, wow—thanks _ever_ so much!" She slapped me again--a little harder this time.

"Watch it! What are you, anyway—a _Cavaliers_ fan or something?" She mockingly snickered.

I tried to sit up a little … but she wouldn't loosen her arms; and I didn't really want to move much, anyway.

"OK; rule #14—never, _never_ mock LeBron James, or anyone around him, in my presence—or you can just take yourself to a game!" I told her.

"_Not fair_, Eric Foreman; using the threat of your absence from my side, to try to get me to switch allegiances! Why, I never …"

"Humpff; I find _that_ hard to believe …," I muttered, low enough for her to hear. She immediately tried tickling me, but I'd slipped my arms inside hers as a guard—however temporary—against her fingers.

We wrestled for a bit, before she finally gave up; for the moment, I was sure. She pulled me close to her again, nuzzling my cheek. The aroma of chocolate and vanilla from her breaths reached me … reminding me that I hadn't had a chance to finish my mug of cocoa before House's visit. Carefully reaching for it, I took a few long sips … almost draining the mug. When I sat it back down on the coffee table, I felt one of her fingers carefully trace my lips … wiping away a tiny amount of residue. Before she could pull her finger out of reach, my tongue reached out to it…gently cleaning her fingertip. I felt her breath deepen, as she slowly inserted it just inside my lips … allowing me more contact with it.

After a few moments of my ministrations, she slowly and reluctantly pulled it from my mouth, and brought it to her lips … letting me watch her lick her fingertip.

The next second, her face scrunched up … and she quickly turned away from me … sneezing a couple of times.

Handing her some tissues from the box I'd brought out to the living room earlier, in case she needed it … I smiled sadly at her as I got up and headed for the kitchen. Filling a glass with juice and getting two more Tylenol … I returned to her side … handing her the glass and the medicine.

Her nose had reddened slightly; I saw, in the soft light of the one lamp we had on in the room.

She met my look with an apologetic one of her own, before downing the pills and taking a few sips of the juice. Nodding at the glass, I encouraged her to drink some more … since it was obvious she was slightly dehydrated. My diagnosis was confirmed when she finished the rest of the juice in a few more swallows. I took the glass, went back to the kitchen to refill it, and then brought it back to her.

"You need liquids and vitamins, babe; and, you need some more sleep." She sat next to me … hanging her head.

"Stupid damned cold; and I was just about to seduce you, too …"

"I could tell; you were doing very well … it was definitely working."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah … a couple more seconds, and …" I lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"Shoot!" Her frustration was cute, very attractive--and kinda funny. I knew better than to laugh at that particular moment, though. It was all I could do to keep a smile off my face.

"You'd better _NOT_ be laughing at me, Eric!"

Damn.

"I'm _not_, Alison—I'm just glad you're getting better; at least your fever's gone …" I tried, a lame attempt to distract her.

She gave me a suspicious look.

"Yeah, there's that, anyway; but I also know that you _were_ smiling … even if it wasn't showing …" I shook my head; trying to deny it any more was pointless.

"Come on; finish your juice, and then I think we should try to get some sleep…" She started protesting.

"But I'm really not all that tired—please, can we stay up a little while longer? I mean—unless you're worn out …"

I looked at her, trying to gauge her level of energy. Where she got her reserves, I still hadn't quite figured out.

"No, I'm not worn out—I'm just worried about you …" She gave me a smile, shaking her head in fondness.

"It's just a cold, dear … I'll be fine tomorrow—you'll see. Let's stay here and listen to some music--all right? That'll relax both of us." She'd finished her juice, putting the glass down with a little smile of triumph that made her look like a little girl who was trying desperately to convince her parents to let her stay up a while longer.

I couldn't resist it.

"OK, ok …" I pretended to "give in" to her … but we both knew what had just happened. She'd used her wiles on me; and it worked. I sighed, stretching out on the couch and pulling her close, as she did the same … snuggling as close as she could, while still leaving room to move away if she had to sneeze again. Once she settled against me, I reached over us to pick up the entertainment center remote from the side table, and switched the system over to the DVD player. Changing the active disk to #2, I pressed the "Play" button, turned the volume down, and then wrapped my free arm around her.

The soft strains and bluesy back beat of Miles Davis' "So What" slipped from the speakers. Alison lay facing me on the couch, a small smile on her lips … her eyes closed.

"Mmmm … Mr. Davis—perfect …" she whispered, one of her hands reaching up to rest on my exposed neck, where my shoulder began. Every few minutes, she'd hum softly to the great, classic instrumental. I was impressed, and pleased, that she seemed to know the song—and the artist, one of my favorites—pretty well.

I'd set the song to repeat; not really in the mood to hear much of anything else, and hoping she'd like listening to it with me. I knew every note, myself; this was one of the first classics my dad introduced me to, growing up--from the original vinyl album, of course.

Tomorrow, I'd have to ask her about what she knew and liked about Miles. It should be an interesting, and no doubt, surprising, story.

For now, though … during the second playing of the song, she'd started to drift off to sleep. Her breathing evened out, and I turned the music down even more; not wanting to wake her, once she'd finally gone to sleep.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth playing of the song, I started drifting off myself … wrapped in the warmth of Alison next to me. I would have happily stayed there all night with her, but I knew she needed to sleep in a real bed, so that she'd get the best rest I could provide for her.

Which reminded me … I only had one real bed in the place.

This wasn't going to be a problem; I told myself … I just had to get her there from where we were. Slowly and carefully finding the remote again, I turned off the DVD player, and the room plunged into silence. Then, I very slowly started untangling myself from her, intending to carry her to my room. After I'd gotten to my feet, I slid the coffee table back a bit, and then bent to gather her up in my arms. She hardly stirred; just wrapped her arms around my neck as I straightened up with her. Carrying her to my room, I carefully laid her on my bed, and went back to the living room for the comforter, as well as the box of tissues … and a glass of water for her from the kitchen. Managing to gather everything up without spilling anything, I hit the lamp switch on the wall with my elbow, and crept back to my bedroom.

She lay there, curled up almost in a fetal position right in the middle of my queen bed. I carefully set the water and tissues down on the side table closest to her, and then spread the comforter over her … tucking it in close.

Straightening up, I paused for a moment to look at her. There was moonlight coming through my bedroom window, angling down on the bed where she lay. Not bright enough to wake her, thankfully; still, enough to reveal more of her beauty. Her hair, which had spread out over one of my pillows, gave her a look of being in a breeze. The curves of her body, rising and falling with each breath underneath the comforter, gave me a sense of comfort and happiness I hadn't felt in a very long time. Her unique, exotic-looking eyebrows twitched occasionally as she lay in REM sleep. Shaking myself out of my trance, I yawned … covering my mouth to mask any sounds, and then moved around to the other side of the bed. I'd left the bedroom door partly open, in case she woke up and needed to go to the kitchen for any reason. Everything else in the apartment was still, and I was ready for sleep myself.

Picking up a corner of the comforter, I carefully slid into bed next to her … getting as close as I could, without disturbing her. When I'd settled into a comfortable position, she turned over … moving to lay against me.

"mmmm … have to brush my teeth," she muttered, sleepily … placing an arm across my chest, as her feet slid in between mine.

"shhh," I whispered back, "in the morning. Go to sleep, baby."

"'night, Eric …"

"… good night, love." I slipped my free arm around her, and kissed her forehead … closing my eyes.

**END OF CHAPTER 13**


	14. Chapter 14

"**Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow, Part 12 – Alison"**

…a **"House, M.D."** story by **Chicmns**

**Pairing:** Cameron/Foreman

**Rating: ** PG; with some slightly adult scenes

**Summary: **This is a story about a possible future together for Alison and Eric, after the events of "Euphoria 1 & 2."

**Disclaimer:** House, MD is completely owned by Fox. I have no connection to the show, other than being allowed to take it out for a spin occasionally on weekends –_ if_ I've finished my homework, and eaten my vegetables. I profit not from anything written here. **Long live the Fox empire!!**

**Alison**

I've discovered one of the best ways to fall sleep. It's being carried to bed by, and then lying next to, Eric; with the music of Miles Davis filling my ears.

If you asked me to make a "top ten" list … this would be right up there.

This is soooo good. My eyes are still closed; and will stay that way, until the building collapses around us--or until we finally decide to get out of his bed … whichever happens first.

My _entire_ body is relaxed. You know how, sometimes … when you go to sleep after a very long day—and then wake up the next morning, with parts of your body as tense as when you laid down the night before? It's happened to me so much, especially after finishing med school--I'd almost gotten used to the feeling.

Not this time, though.

Every part of me … every square inch … is relaxed. I can't remember the last time I felt this way, or this good.

I feel him next to me … his arm under the pillow my head's resting on. His warm, even breaths caress my forehead and hair. I know that I tend to move around quite a bit when I'm sleeping; yet, here I am … in the same position that I remember drifting off in last night. His other arm encircles my waist underneath the comforter that's covering us. One of my hands is resting on his chest, right above his heart.

_That's_ happened before; when we napped together on the couch in the living room.

It means something.

What, exactly … I'm not especially interested in figuring out at the moment.

I feel him move against me, his legs brushing up against mine in sleep … we're tangled together; our feet keeping each other's warm and toasty.

I've _slept_ with Eric. Well … not "slept with", in the way most people mean when they use the phrase.

We went to bed last night … not even discussing, or dealing with … whether our 'sleeping' together would happen, or not.

He just picked me up and carried me to his bed after I'd drifted off to sleep on the couch.

I'm glad.

I mean, I'm still not sure we're at a point in our relationship where we take things to the next level yet. As fast, and as deeply, as our connection has grown … that's a _very_ big decision to make. Both of us are still recovering, physically. With Eric; from his parasite and the biopsy … and me, from my cold.

Not that any of that would have factored much into things, if we'd decided it was the right time.

No … when we're ready, we'll both know.

Of course … if he keeps touching me, kissing me … _looking_ at me, the way he's been … I'm not sure I'll have much left to fight our mutual desire.

OK … new subject, Alison--quickly.

Wait.

He's awake, and watching me-- I can tell. His breathing has changed (without any cause from me … I promise), and anyway … I can just _tell_.

God … _what's_ happening between us? How can two people grow so close, so _sensitive_ to one another--in such a short amount of time? Is all this just the upper layers of what's been there, for a long time? Something we both ignored; dismissed … discounted, for whatever reason?

I need to talk to him about this … later.

I can also tell that my cold has pretty much left me; I'm feeling pretty much my old self again. I think it's because of two reasons: I've slept and rested enough since we left the hospital, my body's natural defenses are reasserting themselves. The second reason--is Eric. He's taken care of me, so attentively, so lovingly … it gets me a little choked up. I still can't quite believe he called Lisa to come and look me over—for a simple cold. They're really … something else. I'll have to find some special way to thank her. Eric, as well--he's become more than important.

Much more.

"What evil are you planning for us today, love? I know you're awake."

I can't help it; a smile appears on my face … and I finally open my eyes to look at him. He's watching me with sleep-filled eyes, and one of those maddening little grins that slip past all my defenses at will.

"And a 'good morning' to you, too … sweetie." I stretch luxuriously under the comforter; scooting a little closer to him in the process. "I have no idea what you're talking about—and _how_ did you know I was awake?" I continued … yawning as his grin deepened. God, he has the cutest dimples …

He reaches up, brushing my hair away from my face … gently stroking it a few times, before placing his hand on the back of my head, drawing me in closer for a kiss.

"mmmm … morning …" he whispered. "My 'Spidey sense' was tingling, so I knew evil was afoot. How do you feel?"

"Keep it up; and I'll give you all the 'foot' you're looking for," I jokingly complained. "To answer your second, much more polite question--so good, I'm seriously considering never leaving this bed." He chuckled.

"That might be a problem, after you've had your first few dozen cups of coffee …" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you insinuating that I drink too much coffee, dear?" We've had this conversation a few times before; he's always thought I drank too much tea and coffee for my own good.

"Alison … you're practically _dating_ Juan Valdez!" I broke out in laughter.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am _not_—and if you want breakfast, I'd reconsider my reply to that!" I good-naturedly threatened. He was in the process of hitting one back 'over the net' at me, when he suddenly stopped … grinning.

"You're making breakfast?" I nodded.

"Yes. Even though you _don't_ deserve it; with your base accusations and mean comments … I'm going to make us omelets, if that's OK--once I find enough strength to get out of bed, that is."

"Sounds great to me; thanks. As for getting up--who says we have to, anytime soon--got anyplace you have to be?"

"No … I just don't get to sleep in much, except on the weekends. Guess I'm waiting for the phone to ring, or the pager to go off … or for Martians—injured and in need of our team's help, of course—to land." That got me more chuckles.

"Well, we're both off duty, and supposed to be recovering … according to the Dean of Medicine; remember? I'm not really looking forward to her third degree, when she's here on Saturday--_if_ we're not looking sufficiently rested. So, I say … let's rest!" He gave me another long kiss and a smile … while I was still trying to catch my breath.

"'Rest', huh?" I quipped … raising an eyebrow and giving him a 'look'. He swallowed.

"Well, yeah … I mean, sort of … hey!--you want to put that eyebrow away, please? You're like a Guantanamo interrogator or something with that thing!"

It was all I could do to keep my face straight and serious. Instead, I let my impulsive nature take over … something that I've been doing quite a bit of lately with him. I leaned over him, and lowered my face to his … kissing him, as if I was drinking cool refreshing water from a desert well.

When I finally released his mouth, we were both gasping. I moved the rest of my body, stretching out on top of him … burying my face in his neck.

"You're driving me crazy …" I heard him say in a very 'frustrated' voice.

"Sorry," I told him, smiling against his cheek. "I just wanted to do that."

"It's OK--'Go with the flow,' I always say." I giggled.

"Eric – I've never heard you say that before—_ever_!"

"You just haven't been paying close enough attention, that's all…"

"No--but I'm sure Chase and Wilson have, though … they're probably wanting some 'chocolate love' in their lives …" I teased him.

"Aauggh—that's just … gross!" His face scrunched up in disgust, while I lay laughing on top of him. Which, as it turned out, left me too vulnerable to what happened next.

Suddenly, he flipped me over on my back … tickling me for all he was worth. I shrieked, laughing and trying to get away from him, but he was just too fast. The next moment, somehow, he held me by my feet … tickling my soles as I fought to escape.

I couldn't get away; he was too strong and fast. Finally giving up all thought of escaping, I just lay there … laughing my head off, writhing around on the bed until he finally gave up.

I'd ended up completely turned around; laying with my head at the foot of the bed; my feet stretched across his chest. The comforter was halfway off the bed entirely, no longer quite covering either of us. It took me a few more minutes to slow my giggles, and get enough oxygen back into my lungs to speak.

"I should … spike your omelet with jalapenos … or something …," I gasped.

He gave me a very expansive, regretful shrug. "Oh, too bad—don't have any in the house--sorry!"

I lifted my head up enough to glare at him. "Idiot," I darkly muttered.

"But you love me, anyway …" he answered, grinning down at me.

I stared up at the ceiling, not speaking, just … smiling. He watched me--smiling, too … I could tell.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he said. The emotion behind those words energized me enough to sit up, Indian-style—a move he duplicated, facing me.

"What about you, sweetie?" I asked … tracing his strong jaw with a finger. "How's the spatial recognition?" He shrugged.

"Hard to tell; I'll know more when I'm moving around and the blood's circulating. I had a good night's sleep … you were next to me--what could be wrong?"

We smiled at each other; his mood seemed the same as it's been the past couple of days, which was very good. He doesn't seem to be worried about anything; something I was truly worried about, when we finally left the hospital. I'd learned to read his moods much better since this whole thing began, with his illness … and I knew he thought a lot about a lot of things; whether he'd recover enough to remain a neurologist, his dad and mom, his brother … and us.

He was worried sometimes about the fast pace we've been moving at; I could see it in his eyes sometimes. That's why a part of me was surprised he didn't carry me to the spare bedroom last night; even though I'm glad he didn't. I wouldn't have been all that surprised to wake up there this morning.

These thoughts were too heavy to start a new day with, I chastised myself. We both had a tendency--a bad habit, in some ways … of being wound just a little _too_ tight at times. At least, while we were away from work … we both needed to stamp that out as much as possible. Now was as good a time to start as any, I thought to myself.

"Nothing's wrong," I told him … giving him a big smile. "Thanks for carrying me to bed, dear … and letting me stay in here. It helped, sleeping here with you. You know—sometimes I struggle with insomnia a little bit. But, being here at your place … I haven't felt that come on at any time. I was afraid I'd have a rough time with it, with my regular routines changing so much …" He nodded his understanding. Sometimes insomnia tended to worsen in different surroundings, and around different people. "I was worried I'd be keeping you up, if that happened."

"Well, then … it's a good thing it hasn't," he said. "I would have stayed up to help you; if I could."

"Now, see – that's why I was worried," I protested. "I know you would have wanted to, and then we'd both be losing sleep …" He caught my shaking chin in his hand. "We're helping _each other_ heal here … right? I would do anything for you, Alison; just as I know you'd do anything for me. If that meant sacrificing sleep … so what? Sleep's for other people, anyway—we're doctors."

I just looked in his eyes, slowly shaking my head … amazed at his selflessness; then, I slid over to lay against him, as he sat back against the headboard of the bed … holding me.

"Think Cuddy and House would let us practice medicine from here?" I asked, half-seriously.

"Well … they're doing great things with telemedicine these days--never hurts to ask," he responded, with a chuckle in his voice.

"Mmmm..." I didn't want to get out of bed; neither did Eric, apparently.

He sat, cradling me against him; one strong arm wrapped around me … lying across my chest, just underneath my breasts. I was listening to him breathing behind me, along with the sounds of birds just outside his bedroom windows.

"What are we doing today?" he asked, after a few minutes. I thought about the question for a time.

"I'm not sure; but, whatever we do, we should probably try to get out of the apartment … since we're both feeling so much better. Any thoughts?"

"Well … I was thinking I needed to do a little bit of laundry, and clean a bit. I _do_ have a guest staying with me, after all. After that, I'm not sure. Doing something outdoors sounds very appealing; even though I can't go to the dojo to work out, or find a basketball game to get into—my spatial recognition's gonna make stuff like that a little dangerous right now. I feel …" his voice drifted off in thought.

"You feel …" I prompted, hugging him a little tighter.

"Well--I woke up, thinking about you … and the ocean. Isn't that weird?" He shrugged.

My mind suddenly took off in a new direction. "Hey—that's a great idea!"

"Huh?" I could tell he was confused by my mental change of direction.

I was getting more and more excited by the second. "Eric--let's go to the _beach!_" I was almost squealing in delight.

"The beach, Alison? It sounds perfect, but … you _do_ realize, this is New Jersey—the nearest beach has to be at least—"

"—fifty miles away—I know! Island Beach State Park -– sand, beaches, nice places to walk, lots to see … oh, Eric! It's just what we need! I don't mind driving; I've been there several times already, and I know a few good spots where we can just sit, catch some rays, and just watch the world go by. What do you say, babe?"

I gave him one of my best "forlorn" looks; sensing he wasn't quite sold on the idea. For myself, though; I was ready and raring to go. Who wouldn't want to spend time at the beach?

"You're really excited about this," he said … with a gleam in his eyes. Ok, he might not have ever seen me so excited about anything quite like this before. What he didn't know about were all of the weekends my family, friends, and I spent at the lakeshore in Chicago during late spring, summer, and early fall. We'd hit all of the great, scenic places up and down the shoreline; from Kenosha, Wisconsin, all the way to the sand dunes on the beaches in the northwestern-most part of Indiana. Those were great memories for me, growing up; and I wanted to build some, like them … with him.

"Yes, I am … _please_; can we go? I'll even promise not to make fun of you for … let's see--a whole hour after we get there. Of course, I'll have to make up for it after the hour's up, mind you, but…," He rolled his eyes, but I knew I'd sold him when I saw the gleam in his eyes brighten.

"Why not? Let's go! What time do you want to leave?"

I squealed. I literally squealed. Eric--idiot that he is--actually covered his ears; pretending that I'd hit some terrible note or something during the aforementioned squeal. I playfully pulled his arms away from his head, laughing … then I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. Pulling away, before another heavy makeout session started up … I held his face between my hands.

"Well, let's both get cleaned up and have some breakfast … and then I'll need to swing by my place to pick up some stuff; check my messages and mail, and make sure things are OK; then, I can pick you up. You can even start some laundry, if you want; by the time you start the dryer cycle, I'll be back. Sound good to you?"

He nodded, grinning. I could tell he was getting into the spirit of the day. I had no intention of letting him tire himself out, or anything like that; there were some nice, relatively secluded places I knew of, near the beach …where we could relax and spend time together, without either of us being overtaxed.

"OK", I told him. "You stay here and rest some more, while I catch a quick shower. Then, I'll make breakfast while you're getting ready … afterward, I'll go by my place, and give you some space for a couple of hours. I'll pick you up around … noon, or so … and we can be at the beach just after one. What do you think?"

"I _think_ you've been planning this for longer than you let on, is what I think," he complained with a grin; teasing me with a little shove. I pushed him back, smiling. "No, I haven't—really. _You_ were the one who brought up the beach, sweetie—and, by the way, I'm going to want to hear _more_ about that dream you mentioned, about me and the beach … sounds kinda hot!" We both laughed.

"You might say that…," he told me with a wink. I raised both eyebrows, watching his expression.

"Oh, _yeah_ … you're spilling ALL the details, my friend!"

"Think you'll be able to get it all out of me, huh?" he challenged. I returned his look with one of my own, equally challenging.

"Eric—you haven't even seen _half _of my moves, yet … I almost feel sorry for you—_almost_, that is." He snorted.

"Yeah, right… you should go shower, maybe get some of those delusional thoughts out of that beautiful head of yours; while I stay out here and laugh!"

Deciding to give him a little 'preview', I suddenly pulled him over to the middle of the bed … flipping him over and bending one arm behind his back, while I climbed on top—immobilizing him.

"_What_ was that, mister?" I whispered in his ear, trying to use my weight to pin him. He was laughing while trying to free his arm at the same time; but I have a brother in the Navy, who's taught me a few things about wrestling.

Especially about how much leverage can overcome physical strength, if applied correctly.

I was laughing, too … as we wrestled each other, each of us looking for an advantage. Once he'd told me about studying karate, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold him for long; and I was right. Barely thirty seconds after I'd surprised him, _I_ was the one facedown, with one of my arms behind my back. Plus, he held on to me a lot easier than I could hold him.

Releasing my arm once we'd both stopped laughing, I remained lying on my stomach across his bed, trying to get my breathing back. Before I could get there, I had another reason to breathe heavily.

Eric leaned over me; dropping small, soft kisses on my neck that made me forget my own name … then gliding down my back, he kept going … moving my hospital top out of the way, so that his lips settled directly on my skin. I squirmed underneath him, not in any attempt to get away … but in reaction to what he was doing.

Running his hands up and down my shoulders, I let out a groan as he started massaging and kneading me wherever his hands touched me. His hands were … wonderful. He was sitting on top of me, but not crushing … even though I knew he outweighed me by close to a hundred pounds. He sat high enough on his knees so that I didn't feel like I was being smothered; but I barely noticed … considering what his hands were doing.

He took his time, finding every knot and tight area, rubbing and massaging until I was beginning to feel like a spineless jellyfish under his ministrations. I heard myself sighing and moaning with almost every pass of his fingers and palms on me … especially when he reached my lower back; lifting my top out of the way enough to slide his warm, soft hands underneath.

Oh, lord … it felt so good.

I didn't remember when I'd closed my eyes, but I had. No need to see … when _feeling_ was so much more important right now. My head rose up from the bed when I felt Eric's thumbs gently run up and down either side of my spine … then, the next moment … I was moaning again when he replaced his fingers with his lips. He'd slid down my body a little, still stretched out on top … but now with his face over my exposed back, kissing and nuzzling wherever there was uncovered skin.

I was a moment—just a tiny moment—away from whispering to him not to stop, to keep going … when I felt him slowly pull my top down over my back, and move to my side … stretching out next to me. I turned my head towards him, resting it on my folded arms as my eyes slowly opened, and our gazes met. He brushed my unruly hair away from my face, moving some strands behind my ear, and the rest he combed with his fingers … while I watched him from under half-closed eyelids.

If what he just did to me was a taste of--well, what we seemed to be heading towards … then I'd better schedule a heart stress test when I went back to work, just to make sure I could handle it.

Wow.

"Just for the record: I had trouble stopping myself just then …," he whispered … his eyes bright with passion and desire.

"Just for the record … I almost wouldn't have let you …," I replied, sighing. "You have incredible hands, doctor." He grinned.

"Thanks. I was … inspired, by the incredible beauty in front of me at the time; as I always am."

"That's such a sweet, wonderful thing for you to say; did you get an 'A+' in compliments, too, at Johns Hopkins?"

"Yep; you know how much of a 'Type A' I am—can't stand coming in second in _anything!_" I snorted, not being able yet to muster enough energy for a full-blown laugh. _That's_ how much he's taken out of me. We continued gazing at each other, neither of us saying a word. We were getting very, very good at this gazing thing. Several minutes passed before he cleared his throat, shaking himself as he looked away.

"Hey, girl … if we're going to hit the beach today, you're going to have to start moving that sexy rear of yours, and get it in gear!" he said, poking me in the ribs. I pushed his hand away.

"Stop it! I'm going, I'm going …," I groaned as I slowly got up from the bed … slowly heading to the spare room where my stuff was. "Eric, can I throw my robe in with your laundry, after I get out of the shower?"

His voice came back to me across the hallway after I'd passed through the door of his spare room. "Sure, hon—and anything else you want to wash. Just put it in the hamper here, and I'll take care of it."

"Thanks—you're great!" I called back to him.

"Don't I know it!" was his snarky reply. I chuckled.

"Careful, there, 'Superfly' … you don't want to get too big a head. Some kid might try to fly it as a kite when we get to the beach!" I was rustling through my things from the travel bag I'd brought … trying to separate things that were still good to wear, from the things I planned to add to his clothes hamper.

"Very funny, 'Miss Thang!'" I laughed as I pushed the door closed with a foot, then undressed … getting ready for my shower. I started humming as I began thinking about the things I needed to collect from my apartment for the beach, and suddenly dreaded checking my answering machine; I was sure there would be plenty of calls from my family, as well as a few from the hospital. I hoped that none of them would dampen my spirits; I was really looking forward to spending the day with Eric at the beach.

Wrapping myself in my robe, I left the spare room, padding back down the hallway … when I heard Eric in the living room watching the news on his TV.

"Be out in a few minutes, dear!" I called to him as I went back into his room.

"Take your time, love!" I saw that he'd pulled his hamper out of his closet for me, and I smiled … both at his cheery mood, his use of the name 'love' for me, and his sensitivity. He'd pulled out a set of clean towels, including a gigantic-looking fluffy one I definitely planned on using. Closing the bedroom door, I could hear exclamations from him, over what sounded like a sports report. Shaking my head in fondness, I entered the bathroom, slipped out of my robe … hung it on an empty hook on his door, and started my shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I was finished … reluctantly leaving the hot, relaxing shower. I was a little miffed; as well as having a larger place than mine, his bathroom was bigger—and the hot water was luxurious! My apartment, while comfortable, felt like a matchbox in comparison.

On top of all that, I typically only had about ten minutes of good hot water at home, before it usually ran out.

Unfair--_very_ unfair, I thought to myself.

Sitting on his bed, wrapped in towels … I carefully dried off, spending more time on my hair. I definitely didn't want to reacquire any chills; especially today. There was nothing worse than not feeling well while you're at the beach.

Slipping my robe back on, I opened the bedroom door to the magic aromas of fresh-brewed coffee; Eric must have taken pity on me. Following my nose instead of finishing getting dressed, I moved like a zombie down the hall … heading directly for the kitchen. I didn't even look in his direction when I passed through the living room; so intent I was on getting some coffee into my system. I heard his knowing laugh behind me, and immediately added it to the list of "things to get Eric back about." When I entered the kitchen, I came to a stop; Eric had set out a mug for me, along with some milk and sugar. Quickly filling my mug and adding the needed ingredients, I took a few long sips … closing my eyes in delight. Holding the cup in both hands, I drifted back to the living room … immediately sticking my tongue out at Eric, who was laughing at the expression of bliss on my face. I walked over to where he sat on the very end of the couch, smiling my thanks … reaching down with one hand to caress the back of his neck, while I watched the rest of the sports report. When it ended, I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, and then turned back to the spare room in order to finish my morning absolutions.

"Bathroom's all yours, sweetie," I told him in a raised voice, before shutting the door to finish dressing.

Once I'd finished getting dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, along with my sneakers … I headed to the kitchen to start breakfast--and get a refill of coffee. Eric was in the shower, so I slipped into his room to add my contributions to his hamper on my way to the kitchen.

Pulling out the eggs, some vegetables, sliced ham, and a couple of peppers from the refrigerator, I arranged everything I needed before placing a large no-stick pan on the stove, adding vegetable cooking oil—along with a few drops of olive oil to thicken the eggs once they were added, and turned the burner on to heat.

Pulling out a mixing bowl, I began dicing the vegetables, peppers, and ham on Eric's cutting board, and then added several eggs to the mix. Whisking the mixture while the pan heated, I brought the mix to a good consistency; enough to make two good-sized omelets. Humming to myself while going over the layout of the beach in my mind--mentally looking for the best spots for us to relax in, I started preparing the omelets. They came out pretty well, I thought to myself; golden-brown on the outside, with the multicolored veggies mixed consistently throughout.

By the time I heard the shower stop, I'd finished the second omelet—a slightly smaller one for me, since I almost never ate large breakfasts—topping them off with sprigs of parsley … and started to plate them.

I'd just finished rinsing the mixing bowl, pan, and utensils I'd used for the omelets, placing them in the dishwasher … when I heard Eric coming down the hall. He came into the kitchen wearing gym shorts, white socks, a well-worn Patrick Ewing New York Knicks jersey, and a large smile. He looked so handsome and healthy-looking; it was hard to remember that he'd been so close to dying, just a few weeks past. I smiled back at him, holding out a large glass of juice that he took from my hands before kissing my cheek. As he passed me, I was enveloped in a cloud of soapy male aromas that seemed to take away the other scents in the kitchen, and I took a deep breath … enjoying the sensations I was experiencing.

"You look great, Eric—sit down, and eat", I managed to say, without having to clear my throat.

"Thanks—so do you, girl. This looks super, Alison—you really didn't have to make breakfast, you know." I sat next to him, smiling as I started my omelet.

"I know—but I wanted to. You've been putting up with me here in your place; I'm just lucky you like my cooking."

He grabbed my hand. "I'm not 'putting up' with you, Alison … I _love_ having you here with me—and I love your cooking, too. We're both pretty lucky—we don't seem to be driving each other nuts, staying together; right?" He searched my face for any sign I was uncomfortable here, and I nodded, quickly agreeing with him.

"It's pretty amazing—and a great feeling. I feel … very 'at home' here, with you. Part of your 'charm', dearest."

I quickly looked away from him, moving my attention to my food. I'd just called him "dearest" – that's what my mom usually called my Dad.

Oh … my.

I've never before called a man "dearest" – not even my husband. It's never … felt right, for some reason.

Until just a moment ago, that is. Of course, he immediately sensed the change in my mood.

"Is everything OK, Alison? Your face changed, all of a sudden—did I--?"

Taking his hand, I shook my head, giving him an encouraging smile. "No, Eric … everything's fine—really. I just … suddenly thought of my parents. I haven't talked to them for a while, and I'm sure there's going to be lots of messages on my machine at home…" my voice trailed off. He nodded, looking relieved that he hadn't said something that bothered me, or disturbed our shared good mood.

"You should call them, then … take all the time you need, too. Maybe later you can tell me more about them; you started to, the other night … but you cleverly changed the subject on me. I'm more ready for your tricks, now, so you can tell me more about 'Alison—the early years'!" Shaking my fork at him, I laughed.

"You're the _sneaky, underhanded_ one in **this** couple, sweetie--while I'm the virtuous, pure, innocent spirit; spreading peace and love wherever I go…" He was faking choking on his food by the time I'd finished, and I glared at him.

"Something to _add_, Eric Foreman?" I asked in a threatening voice. … leaning towards him.

He quickly busied himself with drinking some juice, and continuing on devouring his giant omelet … while I pretended to glare at him out of the corner of my eye.

We ate in companionable silence for a while, trading grins occasionally as we worked through the omelets. When we'd both finished, he got up, and started to clear the dishes away … waving off my help with a smile. I drank some more of the coffee he'd made for me, and wandered out into the living room while he finished up in the kitchen.

I stood there, staring at the couch. I knew that if I sat and waited for him, we'd be there for a while … focused on each other. As much as I would have preferred that, I knew I had to leave soon, then come back to get Eric before we headed to the Jersey beach. Sighing, I went back to the spare room to finish getting ready to leave. It was a strange feeling … my reluctance at leaving him for the first time since he'd regained consciousness in the hospital. I knew this would happen eventually; I was more than surprised at the strength of the feeling I had … to stay with him.

Shaking my head, I collected my purse, cell, and beeper … and headed for the living room.

He was standing there, waiting for me. After moving my purse's strap to my shoulder, I walked up … wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Wanna hear something weird?" he asked me … his chin comfortably resting on the crown of my head.

"What?" I murmured, my face buried in his chest.

"Even though I'll see you in a few hours-–I don't want you to leave." We stood there for a few seconds, both considering what he'd just said.

"I don't want to leave you, either, Eric ... and I don't think that's weird at all."

"No?"

"No. I'm missing you already, and I haven't even left yet." I suddenly laughed. "What's going to happen when we're back at work?"

He laughed, too. "We'll … find a way. I have the feeling, too, that we'll be the subject of a few betting pools and conversations."

"Oh, no doubt," I chuckled. This was silly; if I was going to get back to him any sooner … I needed to _go_, already.

Before pushing myself out of his arms, I kissed him … and then turned away, heading for the door while pulling out my keys.

"Drive safely, babe. Call me if you want to." I turned at the door, meeting his eyes. His hands had slipped into the pockets of his shorts as he stood there, watching me.

"Be back as soon as I can, sweetie. Love you."

There. I'd said it. It was out there, in the open.

He smiled … a deep, slow smile that looked like a second sun, even on this bright sunny day.

"… love you back," came his soft answer. I stood at his open door, my own smile threatening to break my face in two.

"I know," I told him, sending my feelings through our gaze … before turning and passing through the door, closing it softly behind me.

The walk to my car wasn't made on my feet; I glided there, feeling as if I was floating above the ground. The strange feeling in my chest now felt … familiar. My heart had come fully alive again.

We hadn't said_ the_ three words to each other; not word for word, at any rate.

Still--we'd said … expressed … what we felt for each other; what we both knew was growing between us.

My car drove itself to my place from Eric's … my mind and heart taking off on their own jaunts. I was shocked when, what felt like a very short time later … I realized that I was already pulling into the parking lot of my apartment complex. Parking the car and then walking to the common mailbox stall near the complex offices, I checked my box to find it completely stuffed with mail. Shaking my head, I gathered it up and then climbed the stairs to my second-floor apartment.

Letting myself in with my keys and then dropping the pile of mail on my kitchen counter … I went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water to drink. It was already developing into one of the warmer days of the year, so far … another perfect reason to go to the beach. The almost-empty fridge stared back at me when I reached in for one of my last bottles of water, reminding me again that I would have to go shopping soon.

Reaching over to my answering machine sitting next to the pile of unopened mail, I hit the "Play" button. Ugh—twenty-four messages. Sipping the cold water, I sighed as they started to play. When I'd gotten through all of them, most were from family and friends; a couple from Chase and Wilson, and even one from House—demanding to know where I'd hidden the sugar for the office coffee. And, there were a couple from Cuddy, too: the first, just "checking" up on me—the second making me burst out laughing at the thinly-veiled innuendoes she teased me with, having figured out that I was spending time at Eric's.

The ones from my family were all pretty much the same: we haven't heard from you; what's going on; are you OK—stuff. I decided to return those first--beginning with my parents. Dialing my parents' home in Naperville, IL, I got the machine there; apparently, no one was home.

"Mom, Dad; it's Alison. Hey, guys. I'm sorry I haven't called in a while; things … got interesting at the hospital. One of my teammates contracted a life-threatening disease that we barely diagnosed in time. You remember me telling you about him; Eric Foreman? Yeah, the one who stole my article--him. Well--he almost died. It's a long story, and I promise to tell you all about it later. Anyway, I'm his primary physician, and … well, that's where I've been. He was finally recovered enough to be sent home to rest a few days ago, and I've been watching over him … until he gets better. He's doing great, and I'm fine as well. Sorry to have worried you; I'll call back tomorrow, OK? I'm calling Frank and Lizzy next, so please don't pester them for any more details—wait until we talk tomorrow. All right; I love you both, I'm fine, and I'll call back tomorrow. Bye!"

My next two calls were to Baltimore, and NYC … trying to reach my brother and his family in Maryland, and my sister in New York. Shockingly enough, I got both of their machines', too—I figured I'd at least get a hold of my sister-in-law Dana; who worked part time from home. I left pretty much the same message with both of them that I'd left with my folks in Chicago … knowing that I'd still be facing long, expensive phone conversations with everyone soon.

If only I could get them all in the same online chat, I'd save a lot of time and money! My brother and I chatted quite a bit that way; but neither Lizzy nor my parents had quite caught the technology train yet—no matter how hard Frank and I tried to teach them.

Deciding to call a couple of friends as well, just to let them know I hadn't dropped off the face of the earth … and having to endure the "you sound different; what's going on?" stuff … I finished my phone work with a quick call to Cuddy.

Once I'd been transferred to her office, she picked up almost before the first ring ended.

"Alison! So, you _are_ still alive, after all! How are my two wayward doctors doing? Feeling better?"

"Yes, _Mother_ … we're both fine. Listen—thanks for coming all the way over to Eric's to check on me; you didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did. First, because you're a friend, and second … I was worried about you, knowing how exhausted you were. I suspect you can tell me the possible consequences of an overtaxed immune system, hmm? Eric was worried, too—and _he_ gets a gold star, for letting me know that you were sick! I know _you'd_ never admit to such weakness! And, by the way … I _heard_ that 'Mother' crack—you just bought yourself a whole day in the clinic when you get back!"

"But—"

"Wanna shoot for two?" I sighed. Lisa liked to remind people occasionally who was really in charge. I decided to go the "meek" route; maybe she'd forget about the clinic day at some point.

"No, ma'am."

"Better; much better! Now that I've straightened _you_ out … what's going on with … you and … him!"

She'd thrown me for a loop. "Who 'him'--what are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on! You know exactly _who_ and _what_ I'm talking about, little one! Spill it! Have you two done the 'wild monkey dance' yet?"

It was all I could do to keep from laughing. She was in rare form this morning; even for her. I decided to try to take some kind of moral high ground with her; I'm not sure I was ready for this particular subject, yet … and it bothered me a little bit that people would assume something physical between Eric and I; apparently discounting any possibility that we truly liked and cared deeply for each other.

This, however, wasn't the time to be lecturing my boss's boss on our relationship. They'd all see, and understand, soon enough. Keeping things light was the order of the day.

"You're an _evil, vile_ person to even suggest such a thing; while we're both struggling—mightily, I might add—to get back to that sweatshop of a hospital you run!"

I heard her overly-dramatic sniff over the phone. "And there I was … rushing to your side, when I heard you were sick. Spending my own money on the most _advanced_ medicines we have, so that you'd get better …," she said in an affronted voice; mixed in with a little chuckle that only someone who knew her would hear.

"_NyQuil_—'advanced'?" I asked, in a mocking, puzzled voice. She snorted—barely stopping herself from laughing... then continuing with her "lecture."

"Don't mock modern medicine! You owe me ten bucks, missy--I got you _both_ kinds! Don't worry, though—I'll just collect it from you Saturday night; after you feed me."

"Yeah … to the neighborhood dogs …" I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

"Hey—I _heard_ that! _Two_ days, missy!"

We both finally burst out laughing. I'd missed her snarky, offbeat style of humor … and the easy way we teased each other.

When we'd caught our breaths, she continued talking.

"It's good to hear your voice, Alison—you sound a lot better. I have to admit, I was looking over Chase's shoulder as he ran the tests on your swabs … I just didn't want anything happening to you, too …"

I swallowed a few times. One of the many weird things that had happened these past few weeks during Eric's illness, was Cuddy and I getting closer than we'd been before. Ironically enough, I think it started when I'd chewed her out in her own office--right in front of House and Eric's dad--over her refusal to allow us to biopsy the cop's body. I think … it let us reach a new level of comfort between us.

Of course, House had loved every second of it. The bastard. Me--I was convinced I'd just lost my job. She and I'd never talked about it again … until I apologized over it later.

"You're a good friend, Lisa … and you worry too much. It was just a cold, anyway; and I'm practically over it now. I _do_ appreciate you and Eric taking care of me the way you did, though. He's doing a lot better; he's gotten most of his energy back already. There's still a few spatial recognition issues, but that's it. His memory, behavior traits, sleep patterns … all seem normal."

"Thank God …" I heard her whisper.

"Yeah … you're welcome."

There was a moment of silence, and then she exploded in laughter. I chuckled along with her.

"You know … ten minutes after we hang up, I'm going to remind myself that that joke really wasn't all _that_ funny—but, for now, I'll laugh; for _your_ benefit, if for no other reason." I raspberried her over the phone.

"Hardy har-har—Dean of Medicine--AND a comedienne, too! Sounds like a personality disorder to me!"

"You're just _wanting _to spend all of your time in the clinic, don't you?" she mock threatened.

"If it keeps me away from House, sure--speaking of, how're things going there—any interesting cases?"

"No … and he's driving everyone even nuttier than usual. No challenges for him, you see … with no one to take it out on, either. I'm shielding Chase from him as much as I can, but he sneaks down there occasionally when my back's turned. Even Wilson's having trouble talking to him." She immediately changed the subject. "Feel well enough to come back Monday?"

I almost told her no … so that Eric and I would have more time together. Almost. With my cold gone, and having caught up on enough of my lost sleep … there really wasn't any reason for me to stay at home any more—work related, that is. To be honest, a part of me dreaded being there, alone … trapped with House--while Eric was still off work. None of that really mattered, though—I'm a doctor, and I had work to do.

"Yeah, I do. Is it true Eric's board review hearing is set for next Friday?"

"Yes, it is. I see House has been running off at the mouth. I was going to call Eric next week to tell him, but you can go ahead and let him know. Barring any changes in his recovery, both of you need to meet me, and the oversight board, at 2PM next Friday in the main conference room. Alison … between now and then, you need to keep me informed about _anything_ that might keep him from getting his privileges back. I'm serious. I need both of you back here and in good health, so that we can make that meeting a formality. Understand?"

"Yes, I do. He'll-_we'll _both be ready, I promise." My voice was filled with certainty.

"Good. I miss you two. Hey—lunch, on me, Monday—no excuses; all right?"

"Lisa …" I started to protest.

"That's an order, Dr. Cameron. _Must_ I get out the electrodes as well?"

"No," I replied in my snarkiest voice. "But judging on how that morning goes with House, I may be asking you for shock treatments by lunchtime!"

Lisa laughed. "Don't worry … I'll be threatening him a lot between now and then, to warn him off. Anything you want me to tell anyone here?"

"Nah … oh; tell Wilson and Chase thanks again for the pizza and beer the other night, and for visiting us. It was what we both needed."

"Oh, wait--yeah, _now_ I remember … that was the gathering whose invitation I must have _misplaced_, or otherwise_ lost_ …" her voice trailed off. I couldn't believe it.

"For Christ's sake; will you _please_ get off of that, already? Naturally, Eric and I assumed beer would be too '_lowbrow_' for your queenly tastes! Jeeze!"

She started 'tsk-ing' me over the phone. "My, my; _such_ language! I'll be sure to bring a bar of soap with me to lunch."

"You're gonna have to catch me first," I growled, "and I'd bet my practical shoes over your heels, any day of the week!"

"We'll see, little one. We'll see! Listen; this has been all sorts of fun, but I see House coming this way. Gotta run. What time Saturday?"

"Six, I think. Don't worry about bringing anything. We'll see you then."

"Oh, yeah—like _that_ was gonna happen! I'm kidding! OK—six; got it. Bye!"

I was listening to a dial tone … chuckling at the conversation. I wonder what people will think of the new "dynamic" between Lisa and I; it'll probably be put down to me becoming more "mouthy" all of a sudden … or some crap like that. And, of course … House, with his inevitable lesbian-tinted jokes.

Swell.

Sighing, I rolled off the bed to start getting ready for the beach. I pulled a backpack out of my closet, putting a couple of towels in, along with some sunscreen, a paperback I've been reading, a nice large blanket for lounging on … and a few other things. Picking up my sunglasses from the top of my dresser, I set them next to my purse.

Standing in front of my closet again, I tried to decide what to wear. My one-piece bathing suit (in case we decided to swim), underneath a yellow print sundress, with comfortable sandals completing my outfit. Sitting down on my bed, I decided to put my hair into a ponytail; first brushing it out to soften the strands. While I brushed away, I sat cross-legged on my bed … going through the mail that had collected over the past several days. Bills, a letter from one of my nieces, a card from Frank (my brother knew I was a sucker for the weepy Hallmark cards, and continually made me cry by finding and sending me the weepiest cards he could lay his hands on), and a letter from my sister. I included the card from Frank and the letter in my purse; I'd read both of them later at Eric's.

Then, I changed clothes, checking myself in the full-length mirror in my room. The sundress clung and swayed in all the right places, bringing a smile to my face. I was hoping a certain guy would like me in it; and actually giggled like a teenager getting ready for the quarterback to come pick me up for a date.

Wow; I am done for; toast; hooked. He'd _better_ like the dress.

As well as the other surprise that I was planning for him.

You see, I knew about this great place in town where you could get made-to-order picnic baskets for one, two, or more people. You could order just about anything you wanted in them. Sandwiches, whole entrees, sweets; even champagne. We would probably not need the booze—at least, not _this_ time, I smiled to myself—but some sandwiches, maybe a few brownies … along with plenty of iced tea, would be perfect. I knew Eric liked most cold cut sandwiches, but he really liked roast beef—as well as pastrami; something he had in common with House. In fact, House had gotten so uncannily good at finding out when Eric bought pastrami for lunch, and then sliding by to steal most, if not all, of his sandwich … that he'd practically stopped ordering it at the hospital in disgust.

Well, today … I'd make sure that there was some excellent pastrami included in my basket order.

Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was getting pretty close to eleven … and I still had to gas up the car, as well as go by to get the picnic basket. Gathering up my backpack and purse, as well as exchanging my reading glasses for my sunglasses, I was ready to go. I wondered whether I should call him, to let him know I was leaving my place and running a couple of quick errands before coming to pick him up. No, I decided; I didn't want the type of relationship where we were calling each other every five minutes … and I was sure he didn't, either.

I turned off all the lights, except for one lamp in my small living room, gathered up my bags, and left the apartment … carefully locking the front door.

Piling the backpack in the back seat, I drove to the nearest gas station, filled my tank, and then headed for the picnic basket shop. Afraid that many other people would have the same idea I'd had on a day as beautiful as this one was turning into, I expected to see a long line when I arrived. Surprisingly, though, there were only a couple of other customers in the store, which looked and felt much like a supermarket; except you left with your purchases in either a regular wood-sided, wicker, or plastic basket. I was able to get a great basket for two, with my specific items; including some freshly bakes brownies.

Finally finished with my preparations, I headed back over to Eric's. When I pulled up a few doors away from his place, he was standing outside… talking with some people I hadn't seen before. A young couple, I saw … with a very young baby in a stroller. I got out and waved; knowing he'd seen me pull in to the lot, and had been watching me out of the corner of his eyes. I adjusted my sunglasses, shut the car door, and walked over to the group.

Eric was grinning as I walked up, and the young woman standing with the man next to her was glancing back and forth between us, an intrigued look on her face. Eric held out a hand to me as I drew closer, and I smiled … taking it. We kissed, and then I told him hi.

He was wearing cargo shorts, a loose white t-shirt, roman-style sandals on his feet … and sunglasses, as well as a well-worn baseball cap. I gulped; he looked so healthy and handsome, with his muscular arms and legs. I was in danger of swooning right then and there.

"Hi, yourself. You look wonderful", he told me. "So do you, handsome," I replied … smiling again. He turned to the other three people standing there with us. "Alison, these are some neighbors of mine; Aaron and Jenna Harrison, and this little princess is their daughter Jennifer. Guys, this is Alison; she's a doctor at PPTH." We shook hands, while Eric held Jennifer cradled in his arms. Obviously, she was totally enthralled by him; she kept touching his face, especially his dimpled smile.

"It's good to meet you folks," I said. "Wow … Jennifer's _beautiful_—how old is she, and is she planning on letting go of my guy anytime soon?" I asked in a teasing voice. Everyone laughed, except for Jennifer … who just smiled at me with the most angelic look you could imagine.

"Nice meeting you, too, Alison. So--_you're_ the Alison who saved this 'playboy's' life, huh? We've heard a lot about you." Aaron replied, grinning at me. "Eric's already put our girl under his spell; she never had a chance, I'm afraid." It was true; Jennifer seemed quite taken with Eric; her head, full of curly hair, laying on his shoulder as she gazed up at him, while he stood in place … gently bouncing her in his arms.

I was, well … a little surprised. I'd never seen him with a baby in his arms before, and he looked entirely natural with her … as if he'd been doing it for years. He watched as I reached over to shake Jennifer's hand—she immediately grabbed hold of one of my fingers, grinning as if she'd found a pot of gold. I laughed at the expression on her face.

"She's an angel," I gushed. Her parents beamed at me. "How old is she?"

Eric answered. "She's almost two; her birthday's in a couple of weeks." Obviously, Eric spent a fair amount of time with these folks.

"And you're both invited to her birthday party—with the appropriate protective coverings, of course", Jenna said. We all laughed.

"That's very kind of you—thanks." I told her. She still had an inquisitive look in her eyes as she glanced between Eric and me … helping to explain the sudden invitation to a perfect stranger. I got the feeling she wanted to find out more about us. Aaron's bemused look at his wife's obvious curiosity was a big clue, too.

Looking down at Jennifer, who had released my finger so that she could put her thumb in her mouth … Eric let out a sigh, and met my eyes. "We should probably get going, love…" I nodded, watching as he carefully lowered Jennifer back into her stroller—giving her a tickle as he did, which brought a peal of giggles from her.

"What's your specialty, Alison?" Jenna asked me. "Immunology; I work on the same diagnostics team as Eric," I answered.

"Did that help you find out what was wrong with him? When he told us what had happened …" Aaron shook his head.

"Actually, our boss and I found the answer at about the same time. It was touch and go there, for a while … but Eric's tough, and fought it every step of the way," I told them, taking his hand in mine … the pride and relief apparent in my voice.

"Well … thanks for taking care of him, and being such a great doctor. He sings your praises constantly. It was nice meeting you--can we send you two an invitation, then, to this little monster's party?"

I laughed, nodding along with Eric. "Sure; we'd love to come. Thanks so much for inviting us. I hope that we won't have to work; we'd both love to be there. See you guys later." Eric and I waved at all three of them, before turning away to walk over to my car.

"And once again, the Cameron charm comes to the forefront," he teased me … grinning one of _those_ grins of his. I shrugged.

"Can I help it if they like me more than you?" I innocently replied. Hearing him snort as we got into the car made me giggle.

After we'd been settled in our seats, Eric continued. "Jennifer's really something—she's so smart for her age, it's amazing."

"Well, she's a beautiful little thing—such great eyes, and a killer smile. Aaaand …" I paused a moment, before continuing, "she's certainly quite taken with her 'Uncle Eric'; she never took her eyes off of you the whole time you were holding her." He adjusted his seatbelt … raising one shoulder in a shrug as he settled in his seat.

"You don't mind, do you—sharing me with another woman, I mean?" I gave him a considering look, before turning back to concentrating on the right way to the highway out of town, and towards the beach.

"As long as they're all under the age of two; knock yourself out! If you hook up with anyone older … I'll have to kill you; of course."

"Oh, of course … goes without saying", he laughed. Noticing the covered basket in the back seat, he turned to me with a questioning look. I gave him my best secretive smile.

"It's a surprise—and no, before you ask … you can't touch it, or try to figure out what it is before we get there!" I'd reached over to slap his hand away, after he'd tried to uncover it from the blanket I'd placed over it.

"**Oww!**" He jerked his hand away … rubbing it as if I'd dropped a hammer on his fingers, or something.

"_Don't _whine—it's unbecoming of a neurologist. Now, if you were, say, an intensivist--yeah, maybe …" I felt the smirk on my face grow larger, as I chastised him.

Eric chuckled, shaking his head.

"Think his ears are burning right now?"

"Who cares? It's a beautiful day … and we're going to the beach!" I used my free hand to punch the air in front of me as I drove. Eric raised an eyebrow of his own in my direction.

"Been dipping into the NyQuil a little _too_ much, hon?" he teased.

"Oh, shut up--and don't bother me!"

"Sure; whatever you say," he replied in an even voice, "… it's just that, I was going to say next how amazingly drop-dead gorgeous you look in that sundress--but since you don't want to hear me talking …" his voice drifted away.

Playing along with his little game, I placed a panicked look on my face. "_Wait_—the ban's lifted! Please—go on with what you were saying, by all means!" We both laughed.

He paused after a few seconds … and then turned towards me in his seat, leaning his back against the door frame.

"When I saw you get out of your car, and walk over to us … I knew that I was looking at the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life."

My throat seized up, making it almost impossible to breathe … let alone speak. I stole a glance at him, to see his face … and he carried the most serious, emotional look I'd ever seen from him. I took my sunglasses off for a moment, meeting his gaze.

"Thank you, Eric." I managed to get out … feeling the blush on my face spread down my pale skin, to my neck and upper chest. He'd embarrassed me yet again. My mind was bouncing all over the place … driven along by the beat thundering in my chest. Luckily, I managed to not run us off of the road at his declaration.

It was hard for me to believe that he was the same emotionally remote, closed-off doctor I'd gotten used to. He was … much more accessible, and now, always willing to show me his true feelings. To me, that was one of the best signs he was really committed to our new relationship—not that I had doubts. I could say things to him, now … talk to him … in the ways I think I'd always wanted to—and not get rejected, or otherwise turned away for my troubles.

By the time we'd gotten onto Route 37 heading out of town, towards the town of Seaside Park—where Island Beach State Park was located—we'd settled into another of those deep, wide-ranging talks I'd come to cherish and look forward to with him. Also … true to both of our personalities … we also rode in silence for about a third of the time, both of us enjoying the scenery we were passing. Eric had adjusted his seat again, so that he could lean back as far as he could, and I thought he was going to nap for a while. He didn't, though; he just spent the time looking out of the window.

I wondered what he was thinking, and asked him … sensing he was still in a mood to talk.

"Nothing specific, really … just trying to keep my mind uncluttered so that I can enjoy this time with you … without bringing down the mood of the beach party" he wryly answered. I reached over to take his hand in mine.

"You're not bringing anything down, sweetie. I love every minute I get to spend with you, too; it doesn't matter what we're doing. But, Eric … if you have something on your mind, and you need some space to deal with it … that's fine. I'll be here when you 'get back' out of your head; I hope you know that."

He shook his head … chuckling for a few moments. "What?" I asked.

He quickly glanced in my direction before answering. "Well … most women I've spent time with usually had steam coming out of their ears when I'd go into one of my 'introspective' moods; I guess they thought I was thinking about someone other than them, or something that they didn't understand. You're not that way at all. Was your husband the same way?"

It was ironic; I was with one of only two people in Princeton that I didn't get a little nervous when asked about my late husband. I'd told Eric little bits and pieces over the months since he'd come to work for House, small details about my short marriage … and widowhood. For some reason, I'd always trusted him to keep what I told him to himself; even from the others … and he'd _never_ violated that trust, as far as I knew. The only other person who knew any details about my life "back then", was Cuddy.

She has a way of getting you to talk about yourself; and unlike some other bosses I've had in the past, I knew she'd never reveal or use what I told her against me.

"Yes, he was … a little", I told Eric. "He was a very introspective person, like you … but he tended to retreat into himself much further." I sighed, thinking about my late husband. "He wasn't nearly as sensitive about how others might react to it as you are. He just … assumed that people would accept that part of his personality; and if they didn't, it was their problem. It could be a little … off-putting, sometimes. I learned to understand that part of who he was, but I was sad that he'd never seemed to see the problems it could cause."

Eric was quiet for a few miles … thinking about what I'd said.

"You seem able to talk about him a lot easier, than when we first met. Back then, I would've apologized for bringing it up; now, though … I sense you're more at peace about his passing. I could still apologize, if I need to …"

I shook my head, smiling in his direction. "No, that's not necessary. We're past that, you and I. Anyway, I know that whenever you ask me about him, it's always with a lot of sensitivity and caring. You don't want his memory to hurt me, and I appreciate that--a lot."

He reached over … absently touching my hair, and playing with the strap of my sundress. It was something a close friend might do, yes … but there was an intimate side to it that meant more. Much more.

"I don't want anything to hurt you, Alison." I heard his words … and I knew that he would protect me, and whatever I gave to him, in trust..

He'd never _let_ anything, or anyone, hurt me … if he could prevent it.

The traffic had slowed enough to let me focus on him a little more. I reached over myself, laying a hand on his bare thigh … gently squeezing his leg. I loved the sensation of my fingers on his skin. As we got closer to the coastal area, the traffic grew heavier … allowing me to keep my hand where it was, for a while longer. I picked up the thread of our conversation again.

"I think I'm finally at a place where the grief isn't as … sharp … as it once was. It's still there, and I'm sure it will always be there," I told him, "but it's not defining my emotional responses as much as it might have before; if that makes any sense".

He slowly nodded. "You're saying … that it's staying more and more in that part of your heart where grief eventually goes, and doesn't come out to overwhelm you as much anymore."

My heart skipped a beat at that moment; that someone I have deep feelings for … looked into me, and saw the _truth_ of something I'd been dealing with for a long time. It was a … liberating experience; knowing that another person knew … really _knew_, what I'd been experiencing.

"Yes--exactly. You nailed it on the head, darling. No one else … seems to understand that--not even most of my family. But you; you do … don't you?" My voice ended in a whisper … my attention back on the cars and vehicles around us … but with all of my sharply attuned senses focused on Eric.

"I may not have seemed at times like I wanted to understand, or even _tried to_ … what you were so obviously struggling with, Alison--but I did; I do. I'm sorry I wasn't supportive, before; we …" he shook his head.

"…were different people, to each other … and didn't have what we do now." I finished, in a whisper. He nodded … rubbing his face with a hand.

"Yes."

"I think you already realize this, but … I've forgiven you for that, too."

"I know you have, and I'm happy that you did. I'm not sure _I_ would have, if our positions had been reversed."

I sighed. "Not to change the subject, but this sounds like too much like a look into our past; just something to learn from, and avoid. Anyway; I think you would have, as well. Because it's the kind of man you are."

I felt him shake himself, as if he were throwing off a too-heavy coat. "You're right."

Deciding to lighten things up a little, I answered in a wry, grateful voice, "At least we can say one thing …"

"And that is---?"

"We haven't talked about, or commiserated over, our boss in days now!"

He suddenly laughed, lightly slapping the palm I held up. "Amen, sister!" I grinned at him; then glared at the car in front of us that had suddenly decided to slow down for no apparent reason.

"Oh, Eric … I hope—_really_ hope—you _don't_ think of me as a sister--cause that would be just _too_ weird, considering some of the thoughts that have been passing through my head lately!" He stared at me for a moment; and then burst out laughing.

"Good point. Don't worry; I think we both have enough siblings, anyway." I glanced over at him, a wry grin on my face.

"Don't remind me; just wait until you meet my sister. Ever wonder what a version of me—without all of the 'stick-in-the-mud' tendencies—would be like? That's 'C2" … and God help us when you two meet!"

"C2?" he asked in a puzzled voice. I chuckled.

"Sorry … our family nickname for Cheryl Cameron, my younger sister. We all call her 'C2'—possibly a prayer that there is never a 'C3' –- indeed, I've taken certain steps to make sure my niece, Lizzy, doesn't turn out like her!"

Eric turned again in his seat to face me. We were only a few miles away from the state beach here in Seaside Park, the town surrounding it that we'd entered a while back. I headed for the main entrance, hoping beyond hope that we'd find a decent place to park that wasn't a long trek away from the sand and water.

"Okay; two questions … why are you afraid of me meeting her … and what kinds of 'steps' do you mean in regards to your niece?"

I gave him an exaggerated shrug, trying to hide the glint in my eyes … but knowing he'd see it—as well as the change in my voice pattern. He was maddeningly good at doing that, already … making it harder to slip things past him.

"Well, dear … between _her_ crazy mental insane outlook on life—and _your_ 'sneaky, underhanded' ways … trust me, it's _not_ a mix anyone who knows you two wants to see—hey, stop it! _Still_ driving here!" He'd reached over to tickle my side, or at least try to … before I moved out of range with a laugh. "And as for Lizzy, well; I'm her favorite aunt, I give her the best presents at Christmas, take up for her with her sometimes too-strict dad … and plus, I gave her a stern talk about the subject; with plenty of threats--including physical violence--if she started taking on Cheryl's … _less than savory_ character traits. But I'm _sure_ you'd know more about that than I!"

He'd crossed his arms during my little speech, after I'd fended off his tickling attempt … and now he looked as if steam would be coming out of his cute ears before too much longer. I smiled beatifically at him, which only seemed to make his expression worse. It was all I could do not to laugh, as we pulled into the park and I followed the road to the parking lots.

"You know what? Just for that, I'm going to make it my _business_ to forge an _alliance_ with your sister; and once we've driven you nuts with it, we'll proceed to the second part of my evil plan—which is to turn your niece against her 'favorite' aunt; replaced, I think, by … _ME_!" Now it was my turn to glare and steam at him.

"You … no way, _no how_; pal! If you know what's good for you, you'll put that plan back into the evil recesses of that sick mind of yours—pronto! And there's _no way_ you'll turn Lizzy against me—she loves her Aunt Alison!"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking his evil thoughts, no doubt … and then he turned to me with a grin I'd last seen on a Jack O'Lantern at Halloween.

"Not even if I find out what her favorite things are—and buy them for her? She's a teenager, right? Well, what teenager can resist a handsome, mild-mannered doctor who—to her, at least—is flush with cash; and who's perfectly willing to spend lots on her?"

I found a decent parking spot a few hundred yards away from the beach, and switched off the engine. Turning to him, I gave him what I hoped was my most disgusted look … even with the laughter I knew I couldn't hide from my eyes for our little 'game'.

"You … evil man! You'd _corrupt_ a poor, innocent, sweet teenage girl--just to get back at me! And you wonder _why_ I call you sneaky and underhanded!"

We'd both unsnapped our seat belts and exited the car. I stared at him over the hood … shaking my head.

"Yep." Somehow, his one-word answer was enough, and I faked throwing my keys at him as I opened the rear passenger door, placing my purse in the backpack I'd stored behind the seats. Pointing at the picnic basket that I'd just uncovered by pulling off the blanket I'd used to surprise Eric with it, I growled at him.

"Make yourself useful, _Satan …_ and grab our picnic lunch—and try not to melt it with the hellfire coursing through your veins, huh?"

As I rolled up the blanket, slipping it under my arm … Eric studied the basket for a moment with a little smile on his face, before retrieving it from the back seat door on his side, and hefted it. Adjusting his sunglasses underneath his cap, he stepped away from the car, facing the path towards the beach and waves … holding out a hand to me as I came around to him from my side of the car, making sure the doors were locked as I went.

Smiling up at him, I took his hand, and we padded off down the sand and grass path towards the beach. I breathed a small sigh of relief; there didn't seem to be nearly as many people as I thought there would be out here today.

"You packed us a picnic lunch?" I shook my head, giggling.

"Not 'packed', sweetie--purchased. From this great place downtown, that sells them either pre-packaged, or special-ordered. I was lucky enough to get one specially made; there are sandwiches in there, along with cold tea, brownies … all the fixings. I thought our first picnic should be a special one." I stretched up to kiss his cheek as we walked along. He smiled at our touch; he always did, whenever we were in close contact with each other.

"It is, Alison—but not just because of the great food you got; just being here with you is enough for me. I couldn't think of a better way to spend such a great day." He looked around, his face relaxing even more as I watched him … obviously a 'kindred spirit' in our love of beaches and water. Remembering his hesitancy this morning when I'd first suggested the idea, I thought maybe he wasn't much for spending the day at the beach. I was so glad to be wrong.

"Me, too, sweetie. Come on—let's find a good place to sit and eat, and then I'll take you exploring."

We looked around, both noticing a grove of shade giving young trees fairly close to the beach … separating it from other parts of the state park we were in. Without a word spoken, we headed off in that direction. There were more and more people arriving by the minute, so we quickened our pace to what looked like a perfect spot; a few dozen yards away from the edge of the water, surrounded by trees … and somewhat private; at least, as far as this beach was "private".

There was a nice patch of grass and sand right underneath one of the trees, and I started to spread our blanket out for us, as Eric took a long look around. There were mostly families and couples around; no one seemed to be paying us much attention, or looked as if they were too inquisitive about a mixed couple among them. Once I'd gotten the blanket spread out, I plopped down on it … making room for Eric beside me as we faced the water, the sunlight glittering off of the crashing waves; instantly relaxing both of us. We took some time just getting used to our surroundings; I'd been here several times before, as I'd said to Eric … but this seemed to be his first time.

"You didn't know about this, huh?" I asked … our shoulders touching as we stretched both pairs of legs toward the ocean … the food and drink forgotten for the moment, still sitting in the basket by his side.

"Nope," he answered, looking around. "Never even knew this park was here, as a matter of fact. I guess you know more about the lay of our 'fellowship' land, than I do". I shook my head.

"I wouldn't quite say that; I generally stay pretty much in Princeton and the area around it; I found this place on one of my longer, exploring drives."

He gave me a wicked grin. "'Out 'trolling' for men, huh?" I laughed, nodding happily—to his surprise.

"You caught me out—I'd track a hunk down, strap him to the hood of my sensible, efficient sedan, and haul him back to my place—where unspeakable things sometimes ended up happening!" I'd scooted closer to him, and now laid my head on his shoulder as we talked. His strong arms were propped up behind him; supporting both of us, as I took the opportunity to be in contact with him. He nuzzled the side of my head with his cheek, and I sighed in happiness.

"No wonder you'd drag yourself in to the office sometimes; looking like someone who'd been out all night!"

"I'll have you know, Mr. Foreman, that I've never 'dragged myself' into the offices—wait, well, there _was_ that morning I had trouble getting out of my '_Catwoman_' suit…" We both chuckled. I slid one arm around his waist, idly rubbing my now bare toes against his legs.

"We have great shade here, hon--this is a perfect spot!" I could tell he was getting even more into the idea of a day at the beach, and I smiled. I wanted him to love this as much as I did; my family has a long history with the sea, and I sometimes think that I would have followed my brother Frank into the Navy; if I hadn't wanted to be a doctor so much.

I wouldn't have gotten as far as he has, though … the Navy being what it is for women.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a group of kids splashing around in the waves, accompanied by their parents. They were so carefree--laughing, taking turns pushing each other into the water. There was even a small girl with them who couldn't have been more than seven or eight … and who was presently riding on the shoulders of her dad—trying to avoid being pushed into the water, along with his 'passenger', by the other kids. Eric and I laughed when she launched her tiny legs and feet into kicks towards any of her brothers or sisters who got too close.

"She looks so cute; can you believe how much hair she's got? She can't be more than eight!" Eric told me, nodding towards the group.

"I want to find out whatever her mom uses on her hair; that kind of growth demands some kind of medical study…" I replied in a wry voice … bringing more laughter from him.

"Think you'll have one like her someday?" I glanced at him, and then back towards the beautiful little girl … who by now had gotten entirely soaked; and as a result, was laughing her head off. Sighing, I leaned closer to him. "I hope so."

"Before or after you make Head of Immunology?" he continued, casting a grin in my direction. I shrugged.

"Don't know. I'll have to see how my guy--who by then will be on his way to becoming Head of Neurology--feels."

He was quiet for a few moments … our sudden 'multilayered chat' leading both of us into some serious contemplation of the future.

"I think … that he'd say that family is very important to him, and that family would take precedence over career; so the timing would be based on that; rather than promotions."

It was my turn to quietly think about what was being said.

"She'd definitely agree; she wants her own family, too. She just wants them to share everything--including these types of decisions." We nodded at the same time … glancing with smiles at each other.

"Well … he'd want the same thing. Especially since he thinks she's such a great decision-maker, and trusts her judgment."

I was careful not to look at him as I asked, "He does?" Eric nodded.

"Totally. After all … _her_ hands were the ones he put his life into."

I swallowed a few times, trying to get some moisture into my throat. I didn't know if I could actually say what I wanted to say next; unless I stayed within our "oblique" way of speaking. I cleared my suddenly-dry throat a few times, carefully not looking in his direction.

"She never told him this, but … she was scared out of her mind; afraid of making a mistake that would take him away from her. She … doesn't think she would have survived that."

The single tear that rolled down my cheek fell from my face, onto his shorts … leaving a dark dot on the light cargo shorts he wore. He wrapped an arm around me, drawing me tightly against him. I closed my eyes, fighting off the too-close tears I could feel coming. I listened to his deep, quiet voice come from his chest, where my head lay.

"He knows … he knows how scared she was. He saw it in her eyes, right before he went under for the biopsy. He wanted to tell her then that everything would be OK, but there wasn't enough time. He also knows that … if things hadn't gone well … that she _would_ have survived. She's one of the strongest, toughest people he knows." He began rocking me, slowly, in his arms.

My eyesight was blurry as I looked around for something to focus on; something I could re-channel my emotional flow onto. Finding the beach-combing family again a little further down the shore, I watched them in silence for several minutes … looking to regain some inner control, before I spoke again.

"So many things, so many … possibilities, were given back to her; when he came back to her."

He sat still for a moment, and then spoke. "Strange", he answered. "He was just thinking the same thing. Does she think that's a good sign for the future?"

I suddenly decided that this, somewhat offbeat conversation—as pleasing as it's been—needed to come to an end.

"She does—definitely." I giggled, deciding to find another subject to latch on. "Are you hungry?" I started to reach across his body for the food basket, when I let out a yelp … suddenly feeling myself lowered to the blanket, with two soft, warm lips attaching themselves to a spot underneath my ear.

"Mmmm … baby …" I whispered in his ear, so close to my own mouth that I couldn't resist nuzzling it, breathing against its' soft/hard ridges—getting a moan in reply. I felt him throw a leg over mine, as one of my hands ran over the hard muscular chest back underneath his t-shirt … while my other arm cradled his head.

He laid a hand on my stomach, tracing circular patterns over my sundress … as we lay there, enjoying the feel of each other's bodies. I shivered against him when he whispered, "yes, I'm hungry, love …" knowing, as well as I knew my own name … that he wasn't just referring to the food in our basket.

Unfortunately, we were on a public beach, in sight of at least thirty people … and it wasn't nighttime …

Once my body's shivers stopped, I slowly sat up … with Eric's hand in my lap, as I glanced down at him with a tinge of regret on my face … matching what I felt at that moment in my heart. Reaching over and pulling the basket closer to me, I started exploring the contents—taking out a large, wrapped sandwich with an "E" on it, and handing it to him with a smile, along with a paper cup. Once I'd found my sandwich (tuna fish with celery chunks on multigrain bread) and a cup for me, I pulled out the container of iced tea … filling our cups.

By then, he'd sat up as well … stretching his long legs out in front of him again; watching me like an audience watches a magician on stage … while starting to open his lunch.

I almost laughed out loud at the way Eric tore off the foil wrapping around his giant sandwich--glancing at me, once he saw what kind it was. Taking a bite out of my own, I watched his eyes with pleasure, as they lit up at the sight of the hot pastrami (with extra mustard) he liked so much.

Giving me another look of pleasure and thanks, Eric went right into devouring his lunch, while I maintained a more "civilized" pace of eating. Even though my sandwich tasted wonderful--with the right amount of celery mixed in with the fresh tuna salad, I wanted to do to _it_ what Eric was doing to _his_ sandwich.

Appearances, though, _must _be maintained; I thought to myself with a grin … _one_ of us had to look civilized to the rest of the world.

"What are you grinning about, Alison?" was the first thing my companion had said in a while … having busied himself with stuffing his handsome face in the meantime. I rolled my eyes, swallowing a bit of celery and tuna.

"I am _not_ smiling—I'm eating, Eric. There are significant physiological differences between those two acts, you may remember from med school!"

He threw me a look that said, "Duh!"

"I _know_ that, Alison … don't be a smartass. I can _tell_ when you're smiling about something—I see it in your eyes. You can't hide it from me, so fess up. And don't tell me it's because your sandwich is better-tasting than mine, cause I just don't think that's possible." I watched him drop a particularly large piece of pastrami, smothered in mustard … down into his waiting mouth—like some kind of seal at Disneyworld. Shaking my head at him, I took a sip of tea … glaring over the lip of my cup.

"The way you're eating that sandwich is cause _enough_ for laughter, pal … I'm surprised the whole beach isn't pointing at you, and giggling their heads off. I guess we were taught better manners back in Naperville. Hey-I have an idea! Why don't you make some seal sounds while you're doing that … you know, entertain the kids so that they won't be afraid of you eating _them_!" I was laughing for real, by the time I'd finished my little speech … while Eric just sat there beside me, glaring.

"Oh, _veryyyy_ funny! Just because I'm not afraid to eat good food with gusto—unlike _some_ people I could name—doesn't mean I should be ridiculed in public! And another thing, I—wait, hon, you have some tuna on your cheek…" I immediately stopped eating, and started to reach up to brush the food off … when he struck.

One of his fingers flashed to my sandwich, scooping out a portion of the tuna (the sandwich was particularly stuffed with it, to my delight), and then he _smeared it across my cheek_ … grinning like a Cheshire cat all the while.

"_**ERIC!**_" I shrieked, setting my tea down to grab a napkin to wipe the wet, gooey tuna off, almost dropping the rest of my sandwich in the process. "You … this … I'm going to …" I was so surprised, and flustered, I couldn't get any coherent words out. The tuna left a wide swath across my cheek, and I could already feel the mayo start to dry against my skin.

"_Whole_ sentences, love … and take your time—it's important to form descriptive sentences when speaking." Eric said in a dry, normal voice … tinged with laughter at the state he'd put me in. Not that I especially minded having food thrown at me, mind you … it was just the insufferable look on his face that I couldn't take.

Wetting some of the napkins from a bottle of water I'd included in the basket, I carefully cleaned my face … meeting Eric's gaze with a languid, easygoing smile. Rather than immediately retaliating, as I was sure he was expecting … I decided to let him suffer a little bit … by confusing him with my reactions.

"Oh oh ," he whispered to himself … no doubt seeing the murderous intent in my eyes--that didn't quite match the smile on my face--as I looked at him.

"Alison", he began, "I was just playing around. You're not mad, are you?" Good—he was having trouble 'reading' me. This was going to be fun.

I quietly sat next to him, calmly picking up and finishing the rest of my sandwich, along with my tea. I could feel him getting more and more nervous beside me with each passing minute, and it took all my concentration not to let him see how much I was laughing—on the inside. I didn't even meet his nervous glances, instead watching the water, sand, and people strolling past our picnic site.

"Are you even speaking to me? I'm sorry, Alison … I was just joking around--I didn't mean to upset you." He really sounded contrite, and I almost decided to forget about the holy wrath I had planned for Eric Foreman, M.D.

Almost.

Deciding to confuse him even further, I leaned over and kissed his cheek … noting with satisfaction the stiff way he held his face for me to kiss, along with the desire to bolt I saw in his eyes.

"Everything's fine, dear," I told him, turning back to the ocean. "You were just playing around." I was reaching into the basket again, pausing to look over at him with a smile. "Would you like a brownie?"

"Um … sure. That's be great." I nodded, went back to the basket … quietly twisting off the caps on two bottles of water as I pretended to be searching for the brownies … which were packed in a plastic container at the bottom of the basket.

"Need some help?" I quickly shook my head. "Nope—just getting a couple out here …"

The next second, I'd grabbed the now opened bottles, and suddenly spun around … pushing his baseball cap off, pouring the water from both bottles over his head—squeezing them in my hands to get more water pressure directed at him.

"Hey!" He tried to shield his head with his hands, so I shifted the bottles … pointing their openings directly at his face. In a couple of seconds, he was drenched from head to waist. Even his cargo shorts hadn't avoided the deluge, I noticed … as I rolled in laughter.

I stretched out on the blanket facing him, grabbing his cap and putting it on … all the while still laughing my head off as he glared down at me. Then, he slowly started to take his wet shirt off, showing his muscled chest, back, and arms as he spread out the shirt to dry in the sun.

I wasn't paying much attention to the shirt, though, because this was the first time I'd ever seen Eric completely shirtless. My sister had a word for the … very pleasing, appealing sight in front of me.

_Yum_.

His skin, wet from the water, glistened under the angled rays of the sun as he stretched around himself, making sure the shirt was spread completely out—and in the process, his muscles rippled underneath his skin. I could still see the IV marks on his lower arms, and even a couple of places where monitoring sensors had been attached to his chest. The hair on his chest was perfectly proportioned; not too much, and not too hairy. I could also see a couple of older scars on his upper torso, idly wondering what had caused them. They were obviously several years old--probably from his childhood.

His athletic, sleek chest … with well-defined stomach, and arm muscles … brought me up short. I found myself regretting not ever "accidentally" bursting into the men's locker room, to see him change clothes.

"Handsome" was just the start of describing this man. He was also, to me … gorgeous, and very, very sexy.

Getting to know him all over again these past few weeks made him even more so, in my eyes.

"You know you're in trouble now, don't you?"

His sudden voice shook me out of my mental wool-gathering. "What?" I asked, confused.

"Not even being as _beautiful_ as you are will save you, either. My retribution will be a terrible thing to behold!"

I love that he thinks I'm beautiful, and tells me so easily. I've heard that from many guys—not that I'm bragging—and after a while, you can just tell who's sincere, and who isn't. Laughing with him, while shoving his leg … I prop my head in my hand, held up by an elbow … as I stretch out beside him, still enjoying the sight of him. My hands move back and forth over my sundress, smoothing out kinks and wrinkles.

He sat Indian-style, just a couple of inches away from me … when he decided to start exploring the basket that had somehow survived our recent shenanigans. I watched him smile when he discovered the container of brownies, pulling it out along with the rest of the tea. Locating our cups, he refilled them, and then opened the container of brownies … handing one gigantic piece to me, along with my cup. I smiled my thanks, and then we both took bites.

Moaning in delight (yes, both of us!), we watched each other devour the incredibly soft and rich brownies. Once we were finished, he looked down at me, and grinned.

You look good in that cap, dear. Must be getting hot in that dress, though … are you going to keep it on all day? I know you're wearing a bathing suit …" he paused, his eyes slowly running down my body. It excited me, because I _wanted_ him to look. I wanted to see what was in his eyes when he looked at me … especially the way he was looking at me right _now_.

I sat up, slowly removing his cap from my head. Leaning close to him, I breathlessly asked, "Give me a hand?" I watched, grinning on the inside, as his Adams apple bobbed up and down a few times before he silently nodded.

Turning away from him, I started reaching for the back zipper of the dress—when his hand arrived. He slowly unzipped me, and I gathered up the flows and length of my dress … slowly pulling it up past my body, and then over my head … shaking out my hair after I'd lifted the sundress clear. Carefully folding it, I laid it next to his drying shirt … all the while feeling his eyes roam over my body.

I wore my newest bathing suit, a black one-piece outfit that didn't look as "matronly" as it sounded. It had a plunging dip in the back where it reached my waist … while it hugged and supported me in all the right places. I loved the way it made me look, from the first time I tried it on in the store.

From Eric's sudden indrawn breath beside me, I got the feeling he did, too.

"Oh, great, just great …" he groaned. I looked around us, thinking he'd caught sight of House coming in our direction. "What?" I asked him, in a panicked voice …getting ready to quickly slip the dress back on, while at the same time looking at him to see what had caught his attention. He was staring at me, and shaking his head.

"Now I'm going to have to fight _every_ guy here, once they see you … I'll be back in the hospital before nightfall!" All this he said in a mournful, resigned voice … while I just looked in his eyes, smiling (and blushing). He was grinning at me like an idiot—or like someone who'd just told the world's greatest joke. That's what was on his face, and on his lips.

His eyes, though, held different thoughts.

Our gazes locked on each other's … and not for the first time, I was doing something that was fast becoming a favorite pastime: being with him, and looking into his eyes … while he looked back into mine. We were quickly getting to the point where our subliminal communication was as much a part of our interaction--if not more--than our verbal and physical ways of 'speaking".

Like any extremely close couple, we were discovering that we had so many different levels of sharing our thoughts and feelings with the other person; helping to draw us even closer, as time passed. At this rate, we'd be telepathic before another week was gone.

The whole idea was a … revelation to me. As well as being brand new, in many ways.

None of my other relationships with men had gotten this far … this, deep … before Eric.

And … we still hadn't made love.

I couldn't begin to imagine what _that_ would be like … considering the strength of the connection that had already formed between us.

As much as I suspected others might try to pigeonhole our relationship as being based mostly on the physical attraction we obviously had for each other, though … _we both knew there was so much more between us_.

If I ever doubted that … all I needed to do was to look in Eric's eyes, to see the truth of us.

I smiled at him, then … a slow, easy smile that filled my entire face … as I saw the same things in his eyes. I also watched a matching smile appear on his dark, handsome face, along with those dimples I loved so much.

Before we could drift into another one of our "locked gazes" moments, I looked at my watch.

"Has it been an hour since we got here—can I start teasing and making fun of you again?" He tilted his head, still watching me with a look I've come to interpret as his "what do _you_ think, Alison?" – or is it the "do I have _any_ choice in the matter, Alison?" look; it's hard to tell, sometimes.

Shaking his head at me while brushing some errant, wind-blown strands of hair out of my face … he grinned, and then turned to watch some kids toss a football back and forth. I watched as his face kept his grin, enjoying the sight of the kids playing in front of us.

There was a large group of about ten or eleven kids, both boys and girls … with a few adults in the mix. The youngest looked about eight or nine, and the oldest in his late teens. They were having a blast; laughing and needling each other about who threw the best, or farthest, or whatever competitive issue they could latch onto. Sitting beside Eric, with my legs stretched out in front of me … I was in the process of laying my head on his shoulder, when an errant throw came our way. Eric immediately leaned in front of me, protecting me from the certain hit I would have taken if he hadn't. Catching the ball easily in a spray of sand, he immediately turned to me.

"You OK?" I nodded.

"Thanks to you, dear … I almost didn't see that coming."

"I barely saw it, myself." Before he could continue, one of the older kids ran up to collect the ball … apologetic.

"God, I'm really sorry. It didn't hit you guys, did it? Jerry can't throw at all—sorry about that!" He looked about 13 or 14, easily one of the older kids in the group. Eric looked up at him.

"We're good. You guys need to be a little more careful; not everyone's going to be paying attention to what you kids are doing." He was direct, but friendly … getting a nod of agreement from the kid in front of us.

"We know … and I'm really sorry. Hey—why don't you come toss it around with us? I mean—if you're not busy, or anything …" and then he glanced at me before returning to Eric's face. Eric looked as if he was going to refuse, when I decided to push him a little. Some exercise would be good for him.

"Go ahead, sweetie … I'm going to read my book, and marvel at your prowess with the pigskin from afar." I started to reach for my backpack, where I'd packed the paperback.

"You're sure? Why don't you come with me?"

"Yeah, come with him, lady … it'll be fun!" The kid was quite the salesman, if enthusiasm was all you needed. I shook my head at both of them, and then held out my hand.

"We haven't been introduced," I told him, giving Eric a reproving look, "I'm Alison, and this is Eric. What's your name?" He gave us both a gigantic grin.

"Wow, cool--my name's Eric, too! It's nice to meet you guys—are you married?" We were thrown by the question; pausing with both our mouths hanging slightly open … and glancing between each other.

"Um, well … no," Eric finally answered. "She's my girl." Eric (the Younger) nodded, intently studying both of us. I was processing the "she's my girl", when the kid added to my state of slight confusion.

"Well, you guys look like you're really close … I'm sure you'll get married soon," he said, tossing the ball back and forth … watching us, while the other kids screamed at him to return to their game.

I shook my head to clear it, and then nudged Eric. "Go ahead, 'fiancé' – show 'em how it's done. I'm gonna stay here and watch, while I get some color in me." Eric (the Elder) nudged me back, giving me what looked like his "we'll talk later!" look, as he scrambled to his feet—removing his sandals, and taking his baseball cap that I was holding up to him … slipping it on.

"Nice meeting you, Eric; don't keep him for the rest of the day, OK? I miss him pretty fast when he's not around."

"I will—I mean, I won't, ma'am…um, I meant to say, we won't keep him that long," Eric the Younger stuttered. His new namesake friend patted him on his shoulder, laughing. "Don't be nervous, Eric—she has the same effect on me. Come on—let's go! Your friends are getting rowdy." I waved as they both moved off … throwing Eric a kiss when he looked over his shoulder at me before they were both surrounded by kids. I could see the introductions being made, and then they spread out over the sand … tossing the football back and forth between them. Some of the adults meandered over to where Eric stood; more introductions and handshakes followed, with Eric pointing in my direction a few times. I received a few more waves from our new acquaintances, and returned them as I watched Eric.

He dropped a few passes sent his way, at first … shaking his head each time, as if he was frustrated with himself. His throws were, for the most part, on target. I wondered if his spatial recognition issues were still affecting him; it seemed obvious that _he_ thought they were. Still, he was boisterous and friendly with the kids; calling them by name, while giving some of the younger ones tips on throwing a proper spiral. He was a patient, encouraging teacher; kneeling next to the younger, shorter kids in order to show them good throwing and catching techniques … laughing and joking with them all the while. As time went on, he was getting more and more popular; some other kids had joined the group from other parts of the beach … and before too long, an impromptu game had started—with Eric at quarterback for both sides.

Adding to the "official' feel of the game was the fact that most of the parents were congregated in a sort of "fan area" … cheering each catch, move, and play from the kids—who seemed to be having a ball. I was astounded at the way Eric conducted the game; he would stop play in order to show a kid something new to learn, or if there was an unintentional collision (I heard him insist on a "touch" game; since several girls were playing, too) … or to break up one or two skirmishes that occasionally broke out.

His throws, and catches, became more crisp and natural as the game wore on; he was getting quite a workout as the permanent quarterback/referee/coach/constable. Barely a half hour since starting, I couldn't see any struggles with his spatial recognition; when a kid (or one of the parents) threw the ball back to him, he always caught it—even if it was poorly thrown. The kids all seemed to respond to him in the same way; they listened when he spoke, and followed his directions with barely a disagreement. A few kids stayed close to him throughout the game; including a couple of girls who watched him in awe; giggling most of the time. I smiled to myself, shaking my head … remembering how _I'd_ been at that age--when there was a cute boy anywhere within a light year of where I happened to be at the time.

I laughed and cheered the most for this one girl … one of the youngest kids, who _really_ wanted to play with the rest—despite the ridicule she got from some of the older kids. Barely four feet tall; she was slim, shy, and reserved. She was also _very_ determined, however, and Eric noticed it right away. He paid special attention to her--teaching her how to catch the ball without getting hurt, guiding her through some simple receiver patterns, and generally encouraging her. He made good use of her in the game, too--sending her on (mostly) screen passes that she caught (most of the time), and gained quite a bit of ground by showing good speed, and some pretty nifty moves. Before too long, she had quite a few of the kids cheering her receptions … along with many of the parents and spectators, as well. For me, though … as much as I enjoyed watching her and the rest of the kids—watching _Eric_ around them was much more enjoyable … and _very_ revealing. I could very easily imagine how he would someday be with his own kids. It made me feel … very proud, and happy, to see him like this.

I think I cheered him as much as I did any kid on the beach that day.

The games went on for another half hour or so; until some of the parents called their kids back to their spots for sunscreen touchups, or to eat, drink, and rest. None of the kids left before coming over to Eric and talking with him for a minute or two, before running off to rejoin their parents; most of them having introduced themselves to Eric as well … shaking his hand while chatting with him. Finally, he trudged back to our spot … sweat glistening all over his chest and head. I watched him, smiling, as he collapsed beside me … gratefully taking the bottle of water I handed him, taking long sips before dousing himself with the last third of the water in the bottle.

"You OK there, Peyton Manning?" I asked him, laughing. He stretched out next to me, laying on his chest … his head turned towards me with a grin.

"I looked good out there, didn't I?" I smirked, patting him on his wet back.

"Sure did. I think you should hook up with a pro team, make millions of dollars, while also adoring and taking care of _me_ in worship for the rest of my life." He burst out in chuckles, partially muffled by his arms as he rested under the lengthening rays of the late afternoon sun.

"I knew it! It's always about what the superstar can do for his 'trophy' girlfriend, isn't it? I ask you—where is the love?"

"You'll see 'the love' on the days the paychecks come in, mister!" I mock-groused at him.

"Figures. So—are you going to just sit on your magnificent butt all day--or will you actually move off of this blanket at some point?"

"Hey—watch it! I got tired just watching _you_ for the past hour! Especially with you 'flirting' with every girl within range—_what_ have I told you about that?"

"Can_ I_ help it, if my public adores me?" he whined, good-naturedly.

"You're gonna be outside, sleeping with your 'public' tonight--if you don't start behaving!"

He lifted his head a little, looking up at me with a sorrowful look on his face.

"You are a _mean_ woman, Alison Cameron. I don't know _what_ it is I see in you."

"Other than the fact that you know you love me?" I raised _both_ eyebrows at him … daring him to deny it.

"Other than that--yes." We were both laughing by then. Leaning over him, I kissed the back of his neck, right where it met his shoulders … a few inches away from his biopsy scar. Putting my book aside, I placed both hands on his shoulders, starting a slow massage. His skin was slick from exertion and the sun, but didn't seem to be any darker than usual. I guessed that he could stay out in the sun without worrying about his skin tone appreciably changing. Moving my hands in circles as my fingers worked over his muscled back, shoulders, and neck … I heard him sigh in pleasure.

"To answer your earlier question; you're going to lay here with me and rest for a while, and then I thought we'd take a walk later … if you want. You haven't seen the rest of the beach, sweetie, and there's lots to see here. Are you hungry—would you like the last sandwich?"

"Mmm … no, thanks. A walk sounds good to me, honey; just give me a half hour or so, and I'll be ready. Any brownies left?" In answer, I reached into the container I'd pulled out earlier--knowing as much as I do about Eric's sweet tooth, his asking for one of those, instead of real food didn't surprise me much. I took one of the last brownies, and handed it to him … before returning to his massage.

"Thanks, Alison … man, that feels so good …" He leaned over and kissed the leg closest to him; in return, I brushed my fingers across his earlobe … knowing how sensitive he was there. He lay there, watching the water, nibbling on his brownie … until I finished a few minutes later. Twisting around to match his position, I settled next to him … laying my head on his shoulder. My feet and toes found his, and we started another one of our foot "dance/massages".

"This was a great idea—coming here, Alison," Eric told me. "I've had the best time, and the day's only half done!" I smiled at the pleasure and relaxed tone in his words; so happy that he was in such good spirits. He's been doing so well since leaving the hospital, but this was the first time I think he let himself completely relax.

Smiling, I changed the subject on him. "You looked wonderful with those kids, darling. I loved watching you play with them, and teach them--you looked so natural, I'm sure you're going to be a great father when you're ready." Watching his face glow from my words, I knew then that he'd been thinking about much the same thing.

"They're great, those kids. Very rowdy at first, but they really got into the game, once we started. And Maggie—that was the girl who was being teased, and followed me around—" he turned to look at me to see if I knew which kid he was referring to, and I nodded, "she's just … so vulnerable and sensitive. So shy, she hardly spoke at all. But, man, she _really_ wanted to play. I just had to help her out. She became my little 'option' out of the backfield, too—she must have caught ten of those passes in a row!" He started laughing. "When she showed everybody how fast she really was, they gave her more room—which made it easier for me to throw to her--I loved it!"

While I was listening to him, I'd gotten myself a brownie myself … not being able to resist, once Eric asked for one. I knew I'd have to walk or run it off, too -- before it settled on my hips.

"Speaking of throws," I began, "it seemed like you were having some trouble at first; judging the ball's position. Then it seemed to … go away?" I tried to keep my voice as neutral as possible, but Eric knew what I was asking him.

He nodded, and swallowed a couple of times before speaking. "Yeah. Everything looked like it was five feet farther away from me, at first. It was really getting to me; I almost stopped playing. Then, things settled down, and suddenly I 'got the range back', I guess. I don't know--increased metabolic rate, along with heightened blood flow to the brain … might indicate there's some blockage somewhere …" He shook his head, the mood of just a few minutes before dissipated.

I shook my head, as well, throwing an arm around his broad shoulders, hugging him tighter. "Eric, we X-rayed, CAT and PET--scanned you a couple of times each while you were sleeping. We didn't find any indication of inhibited blood flow anywhere in your brain. We had the 'gunslinger' Cuddy called in on your case go over the tests, too … along with our own neurology people—as well as Chase, Cuddy, Wilson, me, and House himself. Nothing. Couldn't it just as easily be some kind of … synaptic readjustment of the nerves around the biopsy area? You haven't had any memory issues, or marked changes in personality, right? I think you're fine, and doing just great. God was listening to me, when I asked Him to look out for you."

He turned to look at me.

"You … prayed for me, Allison? You've always, um … kind of made your feelings on that subject known …"

I played with the sand in front of us, drawing patterns in the almost white crystals of the beach. This wasn't a subject that I felt particularly comfortable discussing, even with him—for lots of reasons.

"I know, I know, Eric … but I was spending a fair amount of time in the chapel, keeping your dad company. I guess I found some measure of peace for myself there, along the way. A couple of times, your dad asked me to pray with him—he's one of those men who's faith flows 'outward', you know what I mean. Anyway—", I shrugged, giving him a wry smile. "Blame your dad. I'm … not sure where I am with all of that, right now …" Eric took my hand in his, gently rubbing my knuckles.

"Believe me; I understand how you must be feeling. You can imagine the way I was raised, with religion being so prevalent in our house", he paused as I nodded, "but ever since med school, and then working for House … I just don't know. My dad and I had a couple of … conversations, about my present 'state', right after he arrived. They weren't particularly pleasant." Turning away from me, his eyes found the waves and the water in front of us again; his face carrying a look of pain. My first reaction was to try to take the pain away. I leaned closer, gently kissing his cheek.

"I'm sorry." He smiled, brushing a couple of fingers against my cheek.

"Don't be. It's OK. Dad and I are—cool, now. We had some good talks after I woke up—on the rare times you _weren't_ there at my side!" He grinned again, nudging me as I rolled my eyes at him. "Actually, I think you helped there, too. He told me about the time you spent with him in the chapel, and the both of you getting to know each other a little bit. I suspect he came to understand why I'm where I am with that whole business, because of his experience with you. So … at the risk of sounding like a broken record—thanks--again".

I wasn't quite sure what he meant by his dad's "experience with me"; but I decided not to pursue it at the moment. I sensed that Eric wasn't interested in continuing down that particular vein, either. A change of subject was needed.

"So—did you get Maggie's number?" I asked, squeezing his bicep in what (I hoped) was a painful way. It was like trying to squeeze iron. On top of me almost breaking my fingers, Eric was chuckling.

"Nope—I remembered your 'older than two years old' rule—just in time, too. I didn't want to become a murder victim, cut down in the prime of my life!"

I playfully patted his head, causing both of us to chuckle. "Good man--_smart fellow_!" He pushed my hand off his skull.

After a couple of moments of easy silence, he whispered, "I only have room in my heart for you, girl."

Glancing at him, I felt tears come to my eyes again. Pulling him to me, we shared a long, deep kiss … at the end of which, he was practically lying on top of me. His hard, muscled chest brushed against the thin covering of the bathing suit I wore, making my nipples tingle. My breath caught in my throat, when our eyes met … and I saw the look of desire in his eyes. I watched as he lowered his mouth to mine again, and I felt my body rise to meet his … before we both slowly settled back down against the blanket.

I moaned into his mouth as he started exploring, slipping his tongue past my inviting, open lips … and then we started dancing inside each other's mouths, our tongues in a slow, passionate, ever-changing embrace. My hands ran up and down his back, past his shoulders to the back of his head … where I held him tight when it felt like he was getting too far away at times … I didn't want him to stop, didn't want him leaving my mouth ever. I was floating, flying … I couldn't even remember if I was breathing or not. Our kiss was that deep, that … complete.

I had no idea … I'd never _felt_ someone else so completely through a kiss before. During it, I had no sense of time, except … the feeling of – permanence, of forever. It was … incredible.

My entire skin was tingling; my hair felt like it was vibrating against my skull. There was a distant sound of thunder in my ears; even though I knew that, if I opened my eyes, I wouldn't see any sign of a storm anywhere.

My body was relaxed against his, and I could feel one hand linger at his waist, where the top of his shorts brushed against my fingertips. Only the far-away sense of us still on a public beach … with people around … kept me from going further and finding the button and zipper I knew was there; like a barrier.

My hand was still resting there, when I felt him reluctantly start to leave my mouth … ending our kiss.

I groaned in protest; until he started to trail kisses down my chin, my throat, across my Adam's apple … his hot breath scorching my skin. Arching my back and neck, I gave him complete access … not wanting him to take his lips away from me at all. I felt one of his hands slide down my side, stopping at the point on my hip where my bathing suit stopped, and my bare leg began. Never stopping his lips from what they were doing, he slipped a couple of fingers underneath the fabric of the suit, massaging and kneading the skin there.

My own hands were still moving, as well … ending up close together on his lower back, just above his shorts where his spine curved upward and away … given his position on top of me. Deciding to go with my feelings, I let my hands slide lower, running over his shorts as I filled my hands with his sexy rear.

Keeping my eyes still closed at what his lips and kisses were doing to my neck and throat, I giggled when I felt him suddenly pause as he felt my hands on a part of him where I hadn't touched before. Instead of speaking, though, he moved his mouth over to one of the sensitive spots he'd already discovered; the back of my neck, where my collar met it. My sighs turned to moans as he proceeded to drive me crazy … with his soft lips, and flickering tongue.

I had no defense, and we both knew it.

All I could do was to hang on tightly to him, riding out the waves of delight and pleasure he was giving me; even though we weren't at home, in bed … with clothes no longer a consideration.

He kept going, until we reached a point where "no return" was the next bend in the road. He seemed to know where it was; knew the point where I would be reaching for _him_ … knew just how far we could go before letting go …

… and I realized, in a small part of my mind not being buffeted by the storm of emotions and sensations flowing through my body … that I trusted him to lead us there—and to take us past, when we were ready. Oh, there were going to be times when I would be in the lead, instead of him; and I knew that he trusted me in the same way I did him; to guide us, and to control our pace.

I couldn't tell you, if you asked me, _how_ I knew … just that I did.

And as I felt my body coming back to earth, coming to rest on our blanket … being supported by his arms, as I felt his hand brushing my hair away from my face … I slowly, very slowly, opened my eyes, to find him looking down at me … his fingers brushing my lips and cheek, trailing little bolts of electricity wherever they touched my skin.

We were both breathing heavily, trying to draw more oxygen from the heavy, salt-laden air of the ocean into our lungs as we lay there, looking into each other's eyes. My hands moved to either side of his head, caressing his face and gently wiping away the tiny beads of perspiration on his forehead, my eyes never leaving his.

His fingers were tracing patterns on my lower neck and collarbone, straightening one of my bathing suit straps that had twisted around in our previous … movements.

Laying there beside him, watching the reflections of the waves in his eyes, I heard him speak with a gentle, easy smile.

"Love you."

Tears began to slip from the corner of my eye, brushed away by one of his fingers … before I found enough breath to answer.

"Love you back."

The smile on my face matched his.

**END OF CHAPTER 12**


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